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Copyright, 1889, 

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I desire to express my thanks here to Harper & 
Brothers, of New York, for permission to use letters 
already published in the " Autobiography and Corre- 
spondence of Lyman Beecher." I have availed myself 
freely of this permission in chapters i. and hi. In 
chapter xx. I have given letters already published in 
the "Life of George Eliot," by Mr. Cross; but in 
every instance I have copied from the original MSS. 
and not from the published work. In conclusion, I 
desire to express my indebtedness to Mr. Kirk Mun- 
roe, who has been my co-laborer in the work of com- 


Hartford, September 30, 1889. 



CHILDHOOD 1811-1824. 

Death of her Mother. — First Journey from Home. — Life 
at Nut Plains. — School Days and Hours with Favorite 
Authors. — The New Mother. — Litchfield Academy and 
its Influence. — First Literary Efforts. — A Remarkable 
Composition. — Goes to Hartford 1 



Miss Catherine Beecher. — Professor Fisher. — The Wreck 
of the Albion and Death of Professor Fisher. — " The 
Minister's Wooing." — Miss Catherine Beecher's Spirit- 
ual History. — Mrs. Stowe's Recollections of her School 
Days in Hartford. — Her Conversion. — Unites with the 
First Church in Hartford. — Her Doubts and Subsequent 
Religious Development. — Her Final Peace . . .22 


CINCINNATI, 1832-1836. 

Dr. Beecher called to Cincinnati. — The Westward Jour- 
ney. — First Letter from Home. — Description of Wal- 
nut Hills. — Starting a New School. — Inward Glimpses. 

— The Semi-Colon Club. — Early Impressions of Slavery. 

— A Journey to the East. — Thoughts aroused by First 
Visit to Niagara. — Marriage to Professor Stowe . . 53 



Professor Stowe's Interest in Popular Education. — His 
Departure for Europe. — Slavery Riots in Cincinnati. — 
Birth of Twin Daughters. — Professor Stowe's Return 
and Visit to Columbus. — Domestic Trials. — Aiding a 
Fugitive Slave. — Authorship under Difficulties. — A 
Beecher Round Robin 78 


Famine in Cincinnati. — Summer at the East. — Plans for 
Literary Work. — Experience on a Railroad. — Death of 
her Brother George. — Sickness and Despair. — A Jour- 
ney in Search of Health. — Goes to Brattleboro' Wa- 
ter-cure. — Troubles at Lane Seminary. — Cholera in Cin- 
cinnati. — Death of Youngest Child. — Determined to 
leave the West 100 



Mrs. Stowe's Remarks on Writing and Understanding Bi- 
ography. — Their Appropriateness to her own Biography. 

— Reasons for Professor Stowe's leaving Cincinnati. — 
Mrs. Stowe's Journey to Brooklyn. — Her Brother's Suc- 
cess as a Minister. — Letters from Hartford and Bos- 
ton. — Arrives in Brunswick. — History of the Slavery 
Agitation. — Practical Working of the Fugitive Slave 
Law. — Mrs. Edward Beecher's Letter to Mrs. Stowe and 
its Effect. — Domestic Trials. — Begins to write "Uncle 
Tom's Cabin" as a Serial for the "National Era." — Let- 
ter to Frederick Douglass. — " Uncle Tom's Cabin " a 
Work of Religious Emotion 126 



" Uncle Tom's Cabin " as a Serial in the " National Era." 

— An Offer for its Publication in Book Form. — Will it 


be a Success ? — An Unprecedented Circulation. — Con- 
gratulatory Messages. — Kind Words from Abroad. — 
Mrs. Stowe to the Earl of Carlisle. — Letters from and 
to Lord Shaftesbury. — Correspondence with Arthur 
Helps 166 



The Edmondsons. — Buying Slaves to set them Free. — Jenny 
Lind. — Professor Stowe is called to Andover. — Fitting 
up the New Home. — The "Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin." — 
"Uncle Tom" Abroad. — How it was Published in Eng- 
land. — Preface to the European Edition. — The Book in 
France. — In Germany. — A Greeting from Charles Kings- 
ley. — Preparing to visit Scotland. — Letter to Mrs. Pol- 
len 178 



Crossing the Atlantic. — Arrival in England. — Reception 
in Liverpool. — Welcome to Scotland. — A Glasgow Tea- 
Party. — Edinburgh Hospitality. — Aberdeen. — Dundee 
and Birmingham . — Joseph Sturge. — Elihu Burritt. — Lon- 
don. — The Lord Mayor's Dinner. — Charles Dickens and 
his Wife 205 



The Earl of Carlisle. — Arthur Helps. — The Duke and 
Duchess of Argyll. — Martin Farquhar Tupper. — A Mem- 
orable Meeting at Stafford House. — Macaulay and Dean 
Milman. — Windsor Castle. — Professor Stowe returns to 
America. — Mrs. Stowe on the Continent. — Impressions of 
Paris. — En Route to Switzerland and Germany. — Back 
to England. — Homeward Bound 228 


HOME AGAIN, 1853-1856. 

Anti-Slavery Work. — Stirring Times in the United States. 
— Address to the Ladies of Glasgow. — Appeal to the 


Women of America. — Correspondence with William Lloyd 
Garrison. — The Writing of " Dred." — Farewell Letter 
from georgiana may. — second voyage to england . . 260 


DRED, 1856. 

Second Visit to England. — A Glimpse at the Queen. — The 
Duke of Argyll and Inverary. — Early Correspondence 
with Lady Byron. — Dunrobin Castle and its Inmates. — A 
Visit to Stoke Park. — Lord Dufferin. — Charles Kings- 
ley at Home. — Paris Revisited. — Madame Mohl's Recep- 
tions 270 



En Route to Rome. — Trials of Travel. — A Midnight Arri- 
val and an Inhospitable Reception. — Glories of the 
Eternal City. — Naples and Vesuvius. — Venice. — Holy 
Week in Rome. — Return to England. — Letter from Har- 
riet Martineau on " Dred." — A Word from Mr. Prescott 
on "Dred." — Farewell to Lady Byron .... 294 



Death of Mrs. Stowe's Oldest Son. — Letter to the Duchess 
of Sutherland. — Letter to her Daughters in Paris. — 
Letter to her Sister Catherine. — Visit to Brunswick and 
Orr's Island. — Writes " The Minister's Wooing " and 
" The Pearl of Orr's Island." — Mr. Whittier's Comments. 
— Mr. Lowell on "The Minister's Wooing." — Letter to 
Mrs. Stowe from Mr. Lowell. — John Ruskin on " The Min- 
ister's Wooing." — A Year of Sadness. — Letter to Lady 
Byron. — Letter to her Daughter. — Departure for Eu- 
rope 315 



Third Visit to Europe. — Lady Byron on " The Minister's 
Wooing." — Some Foreign People and Things as they Ap- 
peared to Professor Stowe. — A Winter in Italy. — Things 


Unseen and Unrevealed. — Speculations concerning Spir- 
itualism. — John Ruskin. — Mrs. Browning. — The Return 
to America. — Letters to Dr. Holmes 343 


THE CIVIL WAR, 1860-1865. 

The Outbreak of Civil War. — Mrs. Stowe's Son enlists. — 
Thanksgiving Day in Washington. — The Proclamation of 
Emancipation. — Rejoicings in Boston. — Fred Stowe at 
Gettysburg. — Leaving Andover and Settling in Hart- 
ford. — A Reply to the Women of England. — Letters 
from John Bright, Archbishop Whately, and Nathaniel 
Hawthorne 363 


FLORIDA, 1865-1869. 

Letter to Duchess of Argyll. — Mrs. Stowe desires to have 
a Home at the South. — Florida the best Field for Doing 
Good. — She Buys a Place at Mandarin. — A Charming 
Winter Besidence. — "Palmetto Leaves." — Easter Sun- 
day at Mandarin. — Correspondence with Dr. Holmes. — 
" Poganuc People." — Receptions in New Orleans and 
Tallahassee. — Last Winter at Mandarin .... 395 



Professor Stowe the Original of "Harry" in " Oldtown 
Folks." — Professor Stowe's Letter to George Eliot. — 
Her Remarks on the Same. — Professor Stowe's Narra- 
tive of his Youthful Adventures in the World of Spir- 
its. — Professor Stowe's Influence on Mrs. Stowe's Lit- 
erary Life. — George Eliot on " Oldtown Folks " . . 419 


[ Irs. Stowe's Statement of her own Case. — The Circum- 
TERS to Lady Byron. — Letter to Dr. Holmes when about 
to publish "The True Story of Lady Byron's Life" in 
the " Atlantic." — Dr. Holmes's Reply. — The Conclusion 
of the Matter 445 





First Impressions of Mrs. Stowe. — Mrs. Stowe's Letter 
to Mrs. Follen. — George Eliot's Letter to Mrs. 
Stowe. — Mrs. Stowe's Reply. — Life in Florida. — Rob- 
ert Dale Owen and Modern Spiritualism. — George 
Eliot's Letter on the Phenomena of Spiritualism. — Mrs. 
Stowe's Description of Scenery in Florida. — Mrs. Stowe 


Stowe during Rev. H. W. Beecher's Trial. — Mrs. Stowe 
concerning her llfe experience with her brother, h. w. 
Beecher, and his Trial. — Mrs. Lewes' Last Letter to 
Mrs. Stowe. — Diverse Mental Characteristics of these 
Two Women. — Mrs. Stowe's Final Estimate of Modern 
Spiritualism 459 


CLOSING SCENES, 1870-1889. 

Literary Labors. — Complete List of Published Books. — 
First Reading Tour. — Peeps Behind the Curtain. — Some 
New England Cities. — A Letter from Maine. — Pleasant 
and Unpleasant Readings. — Second Tour. — A Western 
Journey. — Visit to Old Scenes. — Celebration of Seven- 
tieth Birthday. — Congratulatory Poems from Mr. 
Whittier and Dr. Holmes. — Last Words .... 489 



'ortrait of Mrs. Stowe. From a crayon by Richmond, made in 

England in 1853 ....... Frontispiece 

.Silver Inkstand presented to Mrs. Stowe by her English 

Admirers in 1853 xi 

Portrait of Mrs. Stowe's Grandmother, Roxanna Foote. 

From a miniature painted on ivory by her daughter, Mrs. 

Lyman Beecher 6 


] Ortrait OF Catherine E. Beecher. From a photograph taken 

in 1875 30 

1 he Home at Walnut Hills, Cincinnati* . . . .56 
1 ortrait of Henry Ward Beecher. From a photograph by 

Rockwood, in 1884 130 

Ji Manuscript Page of " Uncle Tom's Cabin " (fac-simile) . 160 

1 he Andover Home. From a painting by F. Rondel, iu 1860, 

owned by Mrs. H. F. Allen 186 

* From recent photographs and from views in the Autobiography of Lyman Beecher, pub- 
li) led by Messrs. Harper & Brothers. 


Portrait of Lyman Beecher, at the Age of Eighty-Seven. 

From a painting owned by the Boston Congregational Club . 264 

Portrait of the Duchess of Sutherland. From an engraving 

presented to Mrs. Stowe 318 

The Old Home at Hartford 374 

The Home at Mandarin, Florida 402 

Portrait of Calvin Ellis Stowe. From a photograph taken in 

1882 422 

Portrait of Mrs. Stowe. From a photograph by Ritz and Hast- 
ings, in 1884 470 

The Later Hartford Home 508 




CHILDHOOD, 1811-1824. 

Death of her Mother. — First Journey from Home. — Life at 
Nut Plains. — School Days and Hours with Favorite Au- 
thors. — The New Mother. — Litchfield Academy and its 
Influence. — First Literary Efforts. — A Remarkable Com- 
position. — Goes to Hartford. 

Harriet Beecher (Stowe) was born June 14, 
1811, in the characteristic New England town of Litch- 
field, Conn. Her father was the Rev. Dr. Lyman 
Beecher, a distinguished Calvinistic divine, her mother 
Roxanna Foote, his first wife. The little new-comer 
was ushered into a household of happy, healthy chil- 
dren, and found five brothers and sisters awaiting her. 
The eldest was Catherine, born September 6, 1800. 
Following her were two sturdy boys, William and Ed- 
ward ; then came Mary, then George, and at last Har- 
riet. Another little Harriet born three years before 
had died when only one month old, and the fourth 
daughter was named, in memory of this sister, Harriet 
Elizabeth Beecher. Just two years after Harriet was 
born, in the same month, another brother, Henry Ward, 


was welcomed to the family circle, and after him came 
Charles, the last of Roxanna Beecher's children. 

The first memorable incident of Harriet's life was the 
death of her mother, which occurred when she was four 
years old, and which ever afterwards remained with 
her as the tenderest, saddest, and most sacred memory 
of her childhood. Mrs. Stowe's recollections of her 
mother are found in a letter to her brother Charles, af- 
terwards published in the " Autobiography and Corre- 
spondence of Lyman Beecher." She says : — 

" I was between three and four years of age when 
our mother died, and my personal recollections of her 
are therefore but few. But the deep interest and 
veneration that she inspired in all who knew her were 
such that during all my childhood I was constantly 
hearing her spoken of, and from one friend or another 
some incident or anecdote of her life was constantly 
being impressed upon me. 

" Mother was one of those strong, restful, yet widely 
sympathetic natures in whom all around seemed to find 
comfort and repose. The communion between her and 
my father was a peculiar one. It was an intimacy 
throughout the whole range of their being. There 
was no human mind in whose decisions he had greater 
confidence. Both intellectually and morally he re- 
garded her as the better and stronger portion of him- 
self, and I remember hearing him say that after her 
death his first sensation was a sort of terror, like that 
of a child suddenly shut out alone in the dark. 

"In my own childhood only two incidents of my 
mother twinkle like rays through the darkness. One 
was of our all running and dancing out before her 


from the nursery to the sitting-room one Sabbath morn- 
ing, and her pleasant voice saying after us, ' Remember 
the Sabbath day to keep it holy, children.' 

" Another remembrance is this : mother was an en- 
thusiastic horticulturist in all the small ways that lim- 
ited means allowed. Her brother John in New York 
had just sent her a small parcel of fine tulip-bulbs. 
I remember rummaging these out of an obscure corner 
of the nursery one day when she was gone out, and 
being strongly seized with the idea that they were good 
to eat, using all the little English I then possessed to 
persuade my brothers that these were onions such as 
grown people ate and would be very nice for us. So 
we fell to and devoured the whole, and I recollect being 
somewhat disappointed in the odd sweetish taste, and 
thinking that onions were not so nice as I had supposed. 
Then mother's serene face appeared at the nursery door 
and we all ran towards her, telling with one voice of 
our discovery and achievement. We had found a bag 
of onions and had eaten them all up. 

" Also I remember that there was not even a mo- 
mentary expression of impatience, but that she sat down 
and said, * My dear children, what you have done 
makes mamma very sorry. Those were not onions but 
roots of beautiful flowers, and if you had let them 
alone we should have next summer in the garden great 
beautiful red and yellow flowers such as you never saw.' 
I remember how drooping and dispirited we all grew 
at this picture, and how sadly we regarded the empty 
paper bag. 

" Then I have a recollection of her reading aloud to 
the children Miss Edgeworth's ' Frank,' which had just 


come out, I believe, and was exciting a good deal of 
attention among the educational circles of Litchfield. 
After that came a time when every one said she was 
sick, and I used to be permitted to go once a day into 
her room, where she sat bolstered up in bed. I have a 
vision of a very fair face with a bright red spot on each 
cheek and her quiet smile. I remember dreaming one 
night that mamma had got well, and of waking with 
loud transports of joy that were hushed down by some 
one who came into the room. My dream was indeed a 
true one. She was forever well. 

" Then came the funeral. Henry was too little to 
go. I can see his golden curls and little black frock 
as he frolicked in the sun like a kitten, full of ignorant 

" I recollect the mourning dresses, the tears of the 
older children, the walking to the burial-ground, and 
somebody's speaking at the grave. Then all was closed, 
and we little ones, to whom it was so confused, asked 
where she was gone and would she never come back. 

" They told us at one time that she had been laid in 
the ground, and at another that she had gone to heaven. 
Thereupon Henry, putting the two things together, re- 
solved to dig through the ground and go to heaven to 
find her ; for being discovered under sister Catherine's 
window one morning digging with great zeal and ear- 
nestness, she called to him to know what he was doing. 
Lifting his curly head, he answered with great sim- 
plicity, ' Why, I 'm going to heaven to find mamma.' 

" Although our mother's bodily presence thus disap- 
peared from our circle, I think her memory and example 
had more influence in moulding her family, in deterring 


from evil and exciting to good, than the living presence 
of many mothers. It was a memory that met us every- 
where, for every person in the town, from the highest 
to the lowest, seemed to have been so impressed by her 
character and life that they constantly reflected some 
portion of it back upon us. 

" The passage in ' Uncle Tom ' where Augustine St. 
Clare describes his mother's influence is a simple repro- 
duction of my own mother's influence as it has always 
been felt in her family." 

Of his deceased wife Dr. Beecher said : " Few women 
have attained to more remarkable piety. Her faith was 
strong and her prayer prevailing. It was her wish that 
all her sons should devote themselves to the ministry, 
and to it she consecrated them with fervent prayer. 
Her prayers have been heard. All her sons have been 
converted and are now, according to her wish, min- 
isters of Christ." 

Such was Roxanna Beecher, whose influence upon 
her four-year-old daughter was strong enough to mould 
the whole after-life of the author of " Uncle Tom's 
Cabin." After the mother's death the Litchfield home 
was such a sad, lonely place for the child that her aunt, 
Harriet Foote, took her away for a long visit at her 
grandmother's at Nut Plains, near Guilford, Conn., the 
first journey from home the little one had ever made. 
Of this visit Mrs. Stowe herself says : — 

" Among my earliest recollections are those of a visit 
to Nut Plains immediately after my mother's death. 
Aunt Harriet Foote, who was with mother during all 
her last sickness, took me home to stay with her. At 
the close of what seemed to me a long day's ride we 


arrived after dark at a lonely little white farmhouse, 
and were ushered into a large parlor where a cheerful 
wood fire was crackling. I was placed in the arms of 
an old lady, who held me close and wept silently, a 
thing at which I marveled, for my great loss was al- 
ready faded from my childish mind. 

" I remember being put to bed by my aunt in a large 
room, on one side of which stood the bed appropriated 
to her and me, and on the other that of my grand- 
mother. My aunt Harriet was no common character. 
A more energetic human being never undertook the 
education of a child. Her ideas of education were 
those of a vigorous English woman of the old school. 
She believed in the Church, and had she been born 
under that regime would have believed in the king 
stoutly, although being of the generation following the 
Revolution she was a not less stanch supporter of the 
Declaration of Independence. , 

" According to her views little girls were to be taught 
to move very gently, to speak softly and prettily, to say 
* yes ma'am,' and ' no ma'am,' never to tear their clothes, 
to sew, to knit at regular hours, to go to church on 
Sunday and make all the responses, and to come home 
and be catechised. 

" During these catechisings she used to place my 
little cousin Mary and myself bolt upright at her knee, 
while black Dinah and Harry, the bound boy, were 
ranged at a respectful distance behind us ; for Aunt 
Harriet always impressed it upon her servants ' to order 
themselves lowly and reverently to all their betters,' a 
portion of the Church catechism that always pleased 
me, particularly when applied to them, as it insured 

ryutccawria/ J/tcwfe'. 


their calling me ' Miss Harriet/ and treating me with a 
degree of consideration such as I never enjoyed in the 
more democratic circle at home. I became proficient 
in the Church catechism, and gave my aunt great satis- 
faction by the old-fashioned gravity and steadiness with 
which I learned to repeat it. 

" As my father was a Congregational minister, I be- 
lieve Aunt Harriet, though the highest of High Church 
women, felt some scruples as to whether it was desirable 
that my religious education should be entirely out of 
the sphere of my birth. Therefore when this cate- 
chetical exercise was finished she would say, * Now, 
niece, you have to learn another catechism, because 
your father is a Presbyterian minister,' — and then she 
would endeavor to make me commit to memory the As- 
sembly catechism. 

" At this lengthening of exercise I secretly mur- 
mured. I was rather pleased at the first question in 
the Church catechism, which is certainly quite on the 
level of any child's understanding, — ' What is your 
name ? ' It was such an easy good start, I could say 
it so loud and clear, and I was accustomed to compare 
it with the first question in the Primer, ' What is the 
chief end of man ? ' as vastly more difficult for me to 
answer. In fact, between my aunt's secret unbelief 
and my own childish impatience of too much catechism, 
the matter was indefinitely postponed after a few inef- 
fectual attempts, and I was overjoyed to hear her an- 
nounce privately to grandmother that she thought it 
would be time enough for Harriet to learn the Presby- 
terian catechism when she went home." 

Mingled with this superabundance of catechism and 


plentiful needlework the child was treated to copious 
extracts from Lowth's Isaiah, Buchanan's Researches 
in Asia, Bishop Heber's Life, and Dr. Johnson's Works, 
which, after her Bible and Prayer Book, were her 
grandmother's favorite reading. Harriet does not seem 
to have fully appreciated these ; but she did enjoy her 
grandmother's comments upon their biblical readings. 
Among the Evangelists especially was the old lady per- 
fectly at home, and her idea of each of the apostles was 
so distinct and dramatic that she spoke of them as of 
familiar acquaintances. She would, for instance, always 
smile indulgently at Peter's remarks and say, " There 
he is again, now ; that 's just like Peter. He 's always 
so ready to put in." 

It must have been during this winter spent at Nut 
Plains, amid such surroundings, that Harriet began 
committing to memory that wonderful assortment of 
hymns, poems, and scriptural passages from which in 
after years she quoted so readily and effectively, for 
her sister Catherine, in writing of her the following 
November, says : — 

" Harriet is a very good girl. She has been to school 
all this summer, and has learned to read very fluently. 
She has committed to memory twenty-seven hymns and 
two long chapters in the Bible. She has a remarkably 
retentive memory and will make a very good scholar." 

At this time the child was five years old, and a regu- 
lar attendant at " Ma'am Kilbourne's " school on West 
Street, to which she walked every day hand in hand 
with her chubby, rosy-faced, bare-footed, four-year-old 
brother, Henry Ward. With the ability to read ger- 
minated the intense literary longing that was to be hers 


through life. In those days but few books were spe- 
cially prepared for children, and at six years of age we 
find the little girl hungrily searching for mental food 
amid barrels of old sermons and pamphlets stored in a 
corner of the garret. Here it seemed to her were some 
thousands of the most unintelligible things. " An ap- 
peal on the unlawfulness of a man marrying his wife's 
sister " turned up in every barrel she investigated, by 
twos, or threes, or dozens, till her soul despaired of find- 
ing an end. At last her patient search was rewarded, 
for at the very bottom of a barrel of musty sermons she 
discovered an ancient volume of " The Arabian Nights." 
With this her fortune was made, for in these most fas- 
cinating of fairy tales the imaginative child discovered 
a well-spring of joy that was all her own. When 
things went astray with her, when her brothers started 
off on long excursions, refusing to take her with them, 
or in any other childish sorrow, she had only to curl 
herself up in some snug corner and sail forth on her 
bit of enchanted carpet into fairyland to forget all her 

In recalling her own child-life Mrs. Stowe, among 
3ther things, describes her father's library, and gives a 
vivid bit of her own experiences within its walls. She 
;ays : " High above all the noise of the house, this room 
lad to me the air of a refuge and a sanctuary. Its 
vails were set round from floor to ceiling with the 
riendly, quiet faces of books, and there stood my fa- 
her's great writing-chair, on one arm of which lay 

< -pen always- his Cruden's Concordance and his Bible. 
. lere I loved to retreat and niche myself down in a 

< uiet corner with my favorite books around me. I had 


a kind of sheltered feeling as I thus sat and watched 
my father writing, turning- to his books, and speaking 
from time to time to himself in a loud, earnest whisper. 
I vaguely felt that he was about some holy and myste- 
rious work quite beyond my little comprehension, and I 
was careful never to disturb him by question or remark. 

" The books ranged around filled me too with a sol- 
emn awe. On the lower shelves were enormous folios, 
on whose backs I spelled in black letters, ' Lightf oot 
Opera,' a title whereat I wondered, considering the 
bulk of the volumes. Above these, grouped along in 
friendly, social rows, were books of all sorts, sizes, and 
bindings, the titles of which I had read so often that I 
knew them by heart. There were Bell's Sermons, Bon- 
nett's Inquiries, Bogue's Essays, Toplady on Predesti- 
nation, Boston's Fourfold State, Law's Serious Call, 
and other works of that kind. These I looked over 
wistfully, day after day, without even a hope of getting 
something interesting out of them. The thought that 
father could read and understand things like these 
filled me with a vague awe, and I wondered if I would 
ever be old enough to know what it was all about. 

" But there was one of my father's books that proved 
a mine of wealth to me. It was a happy hour when he 
brought home and set up in his bookcase Cotton Ma- 
ther's 'Magnalia,' in a new edition of two volumes. 
What wonderful stories those ! Stories too about my 
own country. Stories that made me feel the very 
ground I trod on to be consecrated by some special 
dealing of God's Providence." 

In continuing these reminiscences Mrs. Stowe de- 
scribes as follows her sensations upon first hearing the 


Declaration of Independence : " I had never heard it 
before, and even now had but a vague idea of what 
was meant by some parts of it. Still I gathered enough 
from the recital of the abuses and injuries that had 
driven my nation to this course to feel myself swelling 
with indignation, and ready with all my little mind and 
strength to applaud the concluding passage, which 
Colonel Talmadge rendered with resounding majesty. I 
was as ready as any of them to pledge my life, fortune, 
and sacred honor for such a cause. The heroic element 
was strong in me, having come down by ordinary gen- 
eration from a long line of Puritan ancestry, and just 
now it made me long to do something, I knew not 
what : to fight for my country, or to make some decla- 
ration on my own account." 

When Harriet was nearly six years old her father 
married as his second wife Miss Harriet Porter of Port- 
land, Maine, and Mrs. Stowe thus describes her new 
mother : " I slept in the nursery with my two younger 
brothers. We knew that father was gone away some- 
where on a journey and was expected home, therefore 
;he sound of a bustle in the house the more easily 
iwoke us. As father came into our room our new 
aother followed him. She was very fair, with bright 
)lue eyes, and soft auburn hair bound round with a 
i Jack velvet bandeau, and to us she seemed very beau- 

" Never did stepmother make a prettier or sweeter 
i npression. The morning following her arrival we 
1 >oked at her with awe. She seemed to us so fair, so 
( elicate, so elegant, that we were almost afraid to go 
1 ear her. We must have appeared to her as rough, 


red-faced, country children, honest, obedient, and bash- 
ful. She was peculiarly dainty and neat in all her 
ways and arrangements, and I used to feel breezy, 
rough, and rude in her presence. 

" In her religion she was distinguished for a most 
unfaltering Christ-worship. She was of a type noble 
but severe, naturally hard, correct, exact and exacting, 
with intense natural and moral ideality. Had it not 
been that Doctor Payson had set up and kept before 
her a tender, human, loving Christ, she would have 
been only a conscientious bigot. This image, however, 
gave softness and warmth to her religious life, and I 
have since noticed how her Christ - enthusiasm has 
sprung up in the hearts of all her children." 

In writing to her old home of her first impressions 
of her new one, Mrs. Beecher says : " It is a very lovely 
family, and with heartfelt gratitude I observed how 
cheerful and healthy they were. The sentiment is 
greatly increased, since I perceive them to be of agree- 
able habits and some of them of uncommon intellect." 

This new mother proved to be indeed all that the 
name implies to her husband's children, and never did 
they have occasion to call her aught other than blessed. 

Another year finds a new baby brother, Frederick 
by name, added to the family. At this time too we 
catch a characteristic glimpse of Harriet in one of her 
sister Catherine's letters. She says : " Last week we 
interred Tom junior with funeral honors by the side of 
old Tom of happy memory. Our Harriet is chief 
mourner always at their funerals. She asked for what 
she called an epithet for the gravestone of Tom junior, 
which I gave as follows : — 


" Here lies our Kit, 
Who had a fit, 

And acted queer, 
Shot with a gun, 
Her race is run, 

And she lies here." 

In June, 1820, little Frederick died from scarlet fe- 
ver, and Harriet was seized with a violent attack of the 
same dread disease; but, after a severe struggle, re- 

Following her happy, hearty child-life, we find her 
tramping through the woods or going on fishing excur- 
sions with her brothers, sitting thoughtfully in her 
father's study, listening eagerly to the animated theo- 
logical discussions of the day, visiting her grandmother 
at Nut Plains, and figuring as one of the brightest 
scholars in the Litchfield Academy, taught by Mr. 
John Brace and Miss Pierce. When she was eleven 
fears old her brother Edward wrote of her : " Harriet 
•eads everything she can lay hands on, and sews and 
inits diligently." 

At this time she was no longer the youngest girl of 
;he family, for another sister (Isabella) had been born 
n 1822. This event served greatly to mature her, as 
;be was intrusted with much of the care of the baby 
i »ut of school hours. It was not, however, allowed to 
interfere in any way with her studies, and, under the 
skillful direction of her beloved teachers, she seemed 
10 absorb knowledge with every sense. She herself 
1 writes : " Much of the training and inspiration of my 
( arly days consisted not in the things that I was sup- 
] osed to be studying, but in hearing, while seated un- 
i oticed at my desk, the conversation of Mr. Brace with 


the older classes. There, from hour to hour, I listened 
with eager ears to historical criticisms and discussions, 
or to recitations in such works as Paley's Moral Phi- 
losophy, Blair's Rhetoric, Allison on Taste, all full of 
most awakening suggestions to my thoughts. 

" Mr. Brace exceeded all teachers I ever knew in the 
faculty of teaching composition. The constant excite- 
ment in which he kept the minds of his pupils, the wide 
and varied regions of thought into which he led them, 
formed a preparation for composition, the main requisite 
for which is to have something which one feels inter- 
ested to say." 

In her tenth year Harriet began what to her was the 
fascinating work of writing compositions, and so rapidly 
did she progress that at the school exhibition held when 
she was twelve years old, hers was one of the two or 
three essays selected to be read aloud before the august 
assembly of visitors attracted by the occasion. 

Of this event Mrs. Stowe writes : " I remember well 
the scene at that exhibition, to me so eventful. The 
hall was crowded with all the literati of Litchfield. 
Before them all our compositions were read aloud. 
When mine was read I noticed that father, who was 
sitting on high by Mr. Brace, brightened and looked 
interested, and at the close I heard him ask, ' Who 
wrote that composition ? ' * Your daughter, sir,' was the 
answer. It was the proudest moment of my life. There 
was no mistaking father's face when he was pleased, 
and to have interested him was past all juvenile tri- 

That composition has been carefully preserved, and 
on the old yellow sheets the cramped childish hand- 


writing is still distinctly legible. As the first literary 
production of one who afterwards attained such dis- 
tinction as a writer, it is deemed of sufficient value and 
interest to be embodied in this biography exactly as it 
was written and read sixty-five years ago. The subject 
was certainly a grave one to be handled by a child of 


It has justly been concluded by the philosophers of 
every age that " The proper study of mankind is man," 
and his nature and composition, both physical and men- 
tal, have been subjects of the most critical examination. 
En the course of these researches many have been at a 
oss to account for the change which takes place in the 
3ody at the time of death. By some it has been at- 
tributed to the flight of its tenant, and by others to its 
inal annihilation. 

The questions, " What becomes of the soul at the 
lime of death? " and, if it be not annihilated, " What 
is its destiny after death ? " are those which, from the 
interest that we all feel in them, will probably engross 
universal attention. 

In pursuing these inquiries it will be necessary to 
( ivest ourselves of all that knowledge which we have 
( btained from the light which revelation has shed over 
t lem, and place ourselves in the same position as the 
] hilosophers of past ages when considering the same 
s lbject. 

The first argument which has been advanced to 
rove the immortality of the soul is drawn from the 


nature of the mind itself. It has (say the supporters 
of this theory) no composition of parts, and therefore, 
as there are no particles, is not susceptible of divisi- 
bility and cannot be acted upon by decay, and therefore 
if it will not decay it will exist forever. 

Now because the mind is not susceptible of decay 
effected in the ordinary way by a gradual separation of 
particles, affords no proof that that same omnipotent 
power which created it cannot by another simple exer- 
tion of power again reduce it to nothing. The only 
reason for belief which this argument affords is that 
the soul cannot be acted upon by decay. But it does 
not prove that it cannot destroy its existence. There- 
fore, for the validity of this argument, it must either 
be proved that the " Creator " has not the power to 
destroy it, or that he has not the will ; but as neither 
of these can be established, our immortality is left de- 
pendent on the pleasure of the Creator. But it is said 
that it is evident that the Creator designed the soul for 
immortality, or he would never have created it so essen- 
tially different from the body, for had they both been 
designed for the same end they would both have been 
created alike, as there would have been no object in 
forming them otherwise. This only proves that the 
soul and body had not the same destinations. Now of 
what these destinations are we know nothing, and after 
much useless reasoning we return where we began, our 
argument depending upon the good pleasure of the 

And here it is said that a beinsr of such infinite wis- 
dom and benevolence as that of which the Creator is 
possessed would not have formed man with such vast 


capacities and boundless desires, and would have given 
him no opportunity for exercising them. 

In order to establish the validity of this argument 
it is necessary to prove by the light of Nature that the 
Creator is benevolent, which, being impracticable, is of 
itself sufficient to render the argument invalid. 

But the argument proceeds upon the supposition that 
to destroy the soul would be unwise. Now this is ar- 
raigning the " All-wise " before the tribunal of his sub- 
jects to answer for the mistakes in his government. 
Can we look into the council of the " Unsearchable " 
and see what means are made to answer their ends? 
We do not know but the destruction of the soul may, 
in the government of God, be made to answer such a 
purpose that its existence would be contrary to the dic- 
tates of wisdom. 

The great desire of the soul for immortality, its secret, 
innate horror of annihilation, has been brought to prove 
ts immortality. But do we always find this horror or 
;his desire? Is it not much more evident that the 
.^reat majority of mankind have no such dread at all? 
True that there is a strong feeling of horror excited 
i >y the idea of perishing from the earth and being for- 
gotten, of losing all those honors and all that fame 
{ waited them. Many feel this secret horror when they 
l)ok down upon the vale of futurity and reflect that 
though now the idols of the world, soon all which will 
I e left them will be the common portion of mankind — 
c blivion ! But this dread does not arise from any idea 
c f their destiny beyond the tomb, and even were this 
t "ue, it would afford no proof that the mind would 
east forever, merely from its strong desires. For it 


might with as much correctness be argued that the 
body will exist forever because we have a great dread 
of dying, and upon this principle nothing which we 
strongly desire would ever be withheld from us, and no 
evil that we greatly dread will ever come upon us, a 
principle evidently false. 

Again, it has been said that the constant progres- 
sion of the powers of the mind affords another proof 
of its immortality. Concerning this, Addison remarks, 
" Were a human soul ever thus at a stand in her ac- 
quirements, were her faculties to be full blown and in- 
capable of further enlargement, I could imagine that 
she might fall away insensibly and drop at once into a 
state of annihilation. But can we believe a thinking 
being that is in a perpetual progress of improvement, 
and traveling on from perfection to perfection after 
having just looked abroad into the works of her Crea- 
tor and made a few discoveries of his infinite wisdom 
and goodness, must perish at her first setting out and 
in the very beginning of her inquiries ? " 

In answer to this it may be said that the soul is not 
always progressing in her powers. Is it not rather a 
subject of general remark that those brilliant talents 
which in youth expand, in manhood become stationary, 
and in old age gradually sink to decay? Till when 
the ancient man descends to the tomb scarce a wreck of 
that once powerful mind remains. 

Who, but upon reading the history of England, does 
not look with awe upon the effects produced by the 
talents of her Elizabeth? Who but admires that un- 
daunted firmness in time of peace and that profound 
depth of policy which she displayed in the cabinet? 


Yet behold the tragical end of this learned, this politic 
princess ! Behold the triumphs of age and sickness 
over her once powerful talents, and say not that the 
faculties of man are always progressing in their powers. 
From the activity of the mind at the hour of death 
has also been deduced its immortality. But it is not 
true that the mind is always active at the time of death. 
We find recorded in history numberless instances of 
those talents, which were once adequate to the govern- 
ment of a nation, being so weakened and palsied by 
the touch of sickness as scarcely to tell to beholders 
what they once were. The talents of the statesman, 
the wisdom of the sage, the courage and might of the 
warrior, are instantly destroyed by it, and all that re- 
mains of them is the waste of idiocy or the madness of 

Some minds there are who at the time of death retain 
their faculties though much impaired, and if the argu- 
ment be valid these are the only cases where im- 
mortality is conferred. Again, it is urged that the 
inequality of rewards and punishments in this world 
demand another in which virtue may be rewarded and 
vice punished. This argument, in the first place, takes 
for its foundation that by the light of nature the dis- 
tinction between virtue and vice can be discovered. By 
some this is absolutely disbelieved, and by all considered 
is extremely doubtful. And, secondly, it puts the Cre- 
itor under an obligation to reward and punish the ac- 
tions of his creatures. No such obligation exists, and 
herefore the argument cannot be valid. And this sup- 
>oses the Creator to be a being of justice, which can- 
lot by the light of nature be proved, and as the whole 


argument rests upon this foundation it certainly cannot 
be correct. 

This argument also directly impeaches the wisdom of 
the Creator, for the sense of it is this, — that, foras- 
much as he was not able to manage his government in 
this world, he must have another in which to rectify 
the mistakes and oversights of this, and what an idea 
would this give us of our All-wise Creator ? 

It is also said that all nations have some conceptions 
of a future state, that the ancient Greeks and Romans 
believed in it, that no nation has been found but have 
possessed some idea of a future state of existence. But 
their belief arose more from the fact that they wished 
it to be so than from any real ground of belief ; for 
arguments appear much more plausible when the mind 
wishes to be convinced. But it is said that every na- 
tion, however circumstanced, possess some idea of a 
future state. For this we may account by the fact that 
it was handed down by tradition from the time of the 
flood. From all these arguments, which, however plausi- 
ble at first sight, are found to be futile, may be argued 
the necessity of a revelation. Without it, the destiny 
of the noblest of the works of God would have been 
left in obscurity. Never till the blessed light of the 
Gospel dawned on the borders of the pit, and the her- 
alds of the Cross proclaimed " Peace on earth and good 
will to men," was it that bewildered and misled man 
was enabled to trace his celestial origin and glorious 

The sun of the Gospel has dispelled the darkness 
that has rested on objects beyond the tomb. In the 
Gospel man learned that when the dust returned to 


dust the spirit fled to the God who gave it. He there 
found that though man has lost the image of his divine 
Creator, he is still destined, after this earthly house of 
his tabernacle is dissolved, to an inheritance incorrupti- 
ble, undefiled, and that fadeth not away, to a house not 
made with hands, eternal in the heavens. 

Soon after the writing of this remarkable composi- 
tion, Harriet's child-life in Litchfield came to an end, 
for that same year she went to Hartford to pursue her 
studies in a school which had been recently established 
by her sister Catherine in that city. 



Miss Catherine Beecher. — Professor Fisher. — The Wreck of 
the Albion and Death of Professor Fisher. — " The Minis- 
ter's Wooing." — Miss Catherine Beecher's Spiritual His- 
tory. — Mrs. Stowe's Recollections of her School Days 
in Hartford. — Her Conversion. — Unites with the First 
Church in Hartford. — Her Doubts and Subsequent Reli- 
gious Development. — Her Final Peace. 

The school days in Hartford began a new era in 
Harriet's life. It was the formative period, and it is 
therefore important to say a few words concerning her 
sister Catherine, under whose immediate supervision she 
was to continue her education. In fact, no one can 
comprehend either Mrs. Stowe or her writings without 
some knowledge of the life and character of this re- 
markable woman, whose strong, vigorous mind and tre- 
mendous personality indelibly stamped themselves on 
the sensitive, yielding, dreamy, and poetic nature of 
the younger sister. Mrs. Stowe herself has said that 
the two persons who most strongly influenced her at 
this period of her life were her brother Edward and her 
sister Catherine. 

Catherine was the oldest child of Lyman Beecher 
and Roxanna Foote, his wife. In a little battered 
journal found among her papers is a short sketch of 
her life, written when she was seventy-six years of age. 
In a tremulous hand she begins : " I was born at East 


Hampton, L. I., September 5, 1800, at 5 p. m., in the 
large parlor opposite father's study. Don't remember 
much about it myself." The sparkle of wit in this 
brief notice of the circumstances of her birth is very 
characteristic. All through her life little ripples of fun 
were continually playing on the surface of that current 
of intense thought and feeling in which her deep, ear- 
nest nature flowed. 

When she was ten years of age her father removed 
to Litchfield, Conn., and her happy girlhood was passed 
in that place. Her bright and versatile mind and ready 
wit enabled her to pass brilliantly through her school 
days with but little mental exertion, and those who 
knew her slightly might have imagined her to be only 
a bright, thoughtless, light-hearted girl. In Boston, at 
the age of twenty, she took lessons in music and draw- 
ing, and became so proficient in these branches as to 
secure a position as teacher in a young ladies' school, 
kept by a Rev. Mr. Judd, an Episcopal clergyman, at 
New London, Conn. About this time she formed the 
acquaintance of Professor Alexander Metcalf Fisher, of 
Yale College, one of the most distinguished young men 
in New England. In January of the year 1822 they be- 
came engaged, and the following spring Professor Fisher 
sailed for Europe to purchase books and scientific ap- 
paratus for the use of his department in the college. 

In his last letter to Miss Beecher, dated March 31, 
1822, he writes : — 

" I set out at 10 precisely to-morrow, in the Albion 
for Liverpool; the ship has no superior in the whole 
number of excellent vessels belonging to this port, and 
Captain Williams is regarded as first on their list of 


commanders. The accommodations are admirable — 
fare $140. Unless our ship should speak some one 
bound to America on the passage, you will probably 
not hear from me under two months." 

Before two months had passed came vague rumors of 
a terrible shipwreck on the coast of Ireland. Then the 
tidings that the Albion was lost. Then came a letter 
from Mr. Pond, at Kinsale, Ireland, dated May 2, 
1822: — 

" You have doubtless heard of the shipwreck of the 
Albion packet of New York, bound to Liverpool. It 
was a melancholy shipwreck. It happened about four 
o'clock on the morning of the 22d of April. Professor 
Fisher, of Yale College, was one of the passengers. 
Out of twenty-three cabin passengers, but one reached 
the shore. He is a Mr. Everhart, of Chester County, 
Pennsylvania. He informs me that Professor Fisher 
was injured by things that fetched away in the cabin at 
the time the ship was knocked down. This was be- 
tween 8 and 9 o'clock in the evening of the twenty- 
first. Mr. Fisher, though badly bruised, was calm and 
resolute, and assisted Captain Williams by taking the 
injured compass to his berth and repairing it. About 
five minutes before the vessel struck Captain Williams 
informed the passengers of their danger, and all went 
on deck except Professor Fisher, who remained sitting 
in his berth. Mr. Everhart was the last person who 
left the cabin, and the last who ever saw Professor 
Fisher alive." 

I should not have spoken of this incident of family 
history with such minuteness, except for the fact that 
it is so much a part of Mrs. Stowe's life as to make it 


impossible to understand either her character or her 
most important works without it. Without this inci- 
dent " The Minister's Wooing " never would have been 
written, for both Mrs. Marvyn's terrible soul struggles 
and old Candace's direct and effective solution of all 
religious difficulties find their origin in this stranded, 
storm-beaten ship on the coast of Ireland, and the terri- 
ble mental conflicts through which her sister afterward 
passed, for she believed Professor Fisher eternally lost. 
No mind more directly and powerfully influenced Har- 
riet's than that of her sister Catherine, unless it was 
her brother Edward's, and that which acted with such 
overwhelming power on the strong, unyielding mind 
of the older sister must have, in time, a permanent and 
abiding influence on the mind of the younger. 

After Professor Fisher's death his books came into 
Miss Beecher's possession, and among them was a com- 
plete edition of Scott's works. It was an epoch in the 
family history when Doctor Beecher came down-stairs 
one day with a copy of " Ivanhoe " in his hand, and 
said : " I have always said that my children should not 
read novels, but they must read these." 

The two years following the death of Professor 
Fisher were passed by Miss Catherine Beecher at 
Franklin, Mass., at the home of Professor Fisher's par- 
ents, where she taught his two sisters, studied mathe- 
matics with his brother Willard, and listened to Doctor 
Emmons' fearless and pitiless preaching. Hers was a 
mind too strong and buoyant to be crushed and pros- 
trated by that which would have driven a weaker and 
ess resolute nature into insanity. Of her it may well 
3e said : — 


" She faced the spectres of the mind 
And laid them, thus she came at length 
To find a stronger faith her own." 

Gifted naturally with a capacity for close metaphys- 
ical analysis and a robust fearlessness in following her 
premises to a logical conclusion, she arrived at results 
startling and original, if not always of permanent value. 

In 1840 she published in the " Biblical Repository " 
an article on Free Agency, which has been acknowl- 
edged by competent critics as the ablest refutation of 
Edwards on "The Will" which has appeared. An 
amusing incident connected with this publication may 
not be out of place here. A certain eminent theolog- 
ical professor of New England, visiting a distinguished 
German theologian and speaking of this production, 
said : " The ablest refutation of Edwards on ' The 
Will ' which was ever written is the work of a woman, 
the daughter of Dr. Lyman Beecher." The worthy 
Teuton raised both hands in undisguised astonishment. 
" You have a woman that can write an able refutation 
of Edwards on ' The Will ' ? God forgive Christopher 
Columbus for discovering America ! " 

Not finding herself able to love a God whom she 
thought of in her own language as " a perfectly happy 
being, unmoved by my sorrows or tears, and looking 
upon me only with dislike and aversion," she deter- 
mined " to find happiness in living to do good." " It 
was right to pray and read the Bible, so I prayed and 
read. It was right to try to save others, so I labored 
for their salvation. I never had any fear of punish- 
ment or hope of reward all these years." She was tor- 
mented with doubts. " What has the Son of God 


done which the meanest and most selfish creature upon 
earth would not have done? After making such a 
wretched race and placing them in such disastrous cir- 
cumstances, somehow, without any sorrow or trouble, 
Jesus Christ had a human nature that suffered and 
died. If something else besides ourselves will do all 
the suffering, who would not save millions of wretched 
beings and receive all the honor and gratitude without 
any of the trouble? Sometimes when such thoughts 
passed through my mind, I felt that it was all pride, 
rebellion, and sin." 

So she struggles on, sometimes floundering deep in 
the mire of doubt, and then lifted for the moment 
above it by her naturally buoyant spirits, and general 
tendency to look on the bright side of things. In this 
condition of mind, she came to Hartford in the winter 
of 1824, and began a school with eight scholars, and it 
was in the practical experience of teaching that she 
found a final solution of all her difficulties. She con- 
tinues : — 

" After two or three years I commenced giving in- 
struction in mental philosophy, and at the same time 
began a regular course of lectures and instructions 
from the Bible, and was much occupied with plans for 
governing my school, and in devising means to lead 
my pupils to become obedient, amiable, and pious. By 
degrees I finally arrived at the following principles in 
the government of my school : — 

" First. It is indispensable that my scholars should 
feel that I am sincerely and deeply interested in their 
best happiness, and the more I can convince them of 
this, the more ready will be their obedience. 


" Second. The preservation of authority and order 
depends upon the certainty that unpleasant conse- 
quences to themselves will inevitably be the result of 
doing wrong. 

" Third. It is equally necessary, to preserve my own 
influence and their affection, that they should feel that 
punishment is the natural result of wrong-doing in 
such a way that they shall regard themselves, instead 
of me, as the cause of their punishment. 

" Fourth. It is indispensable that my scholars should 
see that my requisitions are reasonable. In the ma- 
jority of cases this can be shown, and in this way such 
confidence will be the result that they will trust to my 
judgment and knowledge, in cases where no explana- 
tion can be given. 

" Fifth. The more I can make my scholars feel that 
I am actuated by a spirit of self-denying benevolence, 
the more confidence they will feel in me, and the more 
they will be inclined to submit to self-denying duties 
for the good of others. 

" After a while I began to compare my experience 
with the government of God. I finally got through 
the whole subject, and drew out the results, and found 
that all my difficulties were solved and all my darkness 

Her solution in brief is nothing more than that view 
of the divine nature which was for so many years 
preached by her brother, Henry Ward Beecher, and 
set forth in the writings of her sister Harriet, — the 
conception of a being of infinite love, patience, and 
kindness who suffers with man. The sufferings of 
Christ on the cross were not the suffering's of his hu- 


man nature merely, but the sufferings of the divine 
nature in Him. In Christ we see the only revelation 
of God, and that is the revelation of one that suffers. 
This is the fundamental idea in " The Minister's Woo- 
ing 1 ," and it is the idea of God in which the storm- 
tossed soul of the older sister at last found rest. All 
this was directly opposed to that fundamental principle 
of theologians that God, being the infinitely perfect 
Being, cannot suffer, because suffering indicates imper- 
fection. To Miss Beecher's mind the lack of ability to 
suffer with his suffering creatures was a more serious 
imperfection. Let the reader turn to the twenty-fourth 
chapter of " The Minister's Wooing " for a complete 
presentation of this subject, especially the passage that 
begins, " Sorrow is divine : sorrow is reigning on the 
throne of the universe." 

In the fall of the year 1824, while her sister Cath- 
erine was passing through the soul crisis which we have 
been describing, Harriet came to the school that she 
had recently established. 

In a letter to her son written in 1886, speaking of 
this period of her life, Mrs. Stowe says : " Somewhere 
between my twelfth and thirteenth year I was placed 
under the care of my elder sister Catherine, in the 
school that she had just started in Hartford, Connect- 
icut. When I entered the school there were not more 
than twenty-five scholars in it, but it afterwards num- 
bered its pupils by the hundreds. The school-room was 
on Main Street, nearly opposite Christ Church, over 
Sheldon & Colton's harness store, at the sign of the 
two white horses. I never shall forget the pleasure and 
surprise which these two white horses produced in my 


mind when I first saw them. One of the young men 
who worked in the rear of the harness store had a most 
beautiful tenor voice, and it was my delight to hear 
him singing in school hours : — 

' When in cold oblivion's shade 
Beauty, wealth, and power are laid, 
When, around the sculptured shrine, 
Moss shall cling and ivy twine, 
Where immortal spirits reign, 
There shall we all meet again.' 

" As my father's salary was inadequate to the wants 
of his large family, the expense of my board in Hart- 
ford was provided for by a species of exchange. Mr. 
Isaac D. Bull sent a daughter to Miss Pierce's seminary 
in Litchfield, and she boarded in my father's family in 
exchange for my board in her father's family. If my 
good, refined, neat, particular stepmother could have 
chosen, she could not have found a family more exactly 
suited to her desires. The very soul of neatness and 
order pervaded the whole establishment. Mr. I. D. 
Bull was a fine, vigorous, white-haired man on the de- 
clining slope of life, but full of energy and of kind- 
ness. Mr. Samuel Collins, a neighbor who lived next 
door, used to frequently come in and make most im- 
pressive and solemn calls on Miss Mary Anne Bull, who 
was a brunette and a celebrated beauty of the day. I 
well remember her long raven curls falling from the 
comb that held them up on the top of her head. She 
had a rich soprano voice, and was the leading singer in 
the Centre Church choir. The two brothers also had 
fine, manly voices, and the family circle was often en- 
livened by quartette singing and flute playing. Mr. 
Bull kept a very large wholesale drug store on Front 




Street, in which his two sons, Albert and James, were 
clerks. The oldest son, Watson Bull, had established 
a retail drug store at the sign of the ' Good Samaritan.' 
A large picture of the Good Samaritan relieving the 
wounded traveler formed a striking part of the sign, 
and was contemplated by me with reverence. 

" The mother of the family gave me at once a child's 
place in her heart. A neat little hall chamber was 
allotted to me for my own, and a well made and kept 
single bed was given me, of which I took daily care 
with awful satisfaction. If I was sick nothing could 
exceed the watchful care and tender nursing of Mrs. 
Bull. In school my two most intimate friends were 
the leading scholars. They had written to me before 
I came and I had answered their letters, and on my 
arrival they gave me the warmest welcome. One was 
Catherine Ledyard Cogswell, daughter of the leading 
and best-beloved of Hartford physicians. The other 
was Georgiana May, daughter of a most lovely Chris- 
tian woman who was a widow. Georgiana was one of 
many children, having two younger sisters, Mary and 
Gertrude, and several brothers. Catherine Cogswell 
was one of the most amiable, sprightly, sunny-tempered 
individuals I have ever known. She was, in fact, so 
much beloved that it was difficult for me to see much 
of her. Her time was all bespoken by different girls. 
One might walk with her to school, another had the 
like promise on the way home. And at recess, of which 
we had every day a short half hour, there was always 
a suppliant at Katy's shrine, whom she found it hard 
to refuse. Yet, among all these claimants, she did keep 
a little place here and there for me. Georgiana was 


older and graver, and less fascinating to the other girls, 
but between her and me there grew up the warmest 
friendship, which proved lifelong in its constancy. 

" Catherine and Georgiana were reading ' Virgil ' 
when I came to the school. I began the study of Latin 
alone, and at the end of the first year made a transla- 
tion of ' Ovid ' in verse, which was read at the final 
exhibition of the school, and regarded, I believe, as a 
very creditable performance. I was very much inter- 
ested in poetry, and it was my dream to be a poet. I 
began a drama called ' Cleon.' The scene was laid in 
the court and time of the emperor Nero, and Cleon was 
a Greek lord residing at Nero's court, who, after much 
searching and doubting, at last comes to the knowledge 
of Christianity. I filled blank book after blank book 
with this drama. It filled my thoughts sleeping and 
waking. One day sister Catherine pounced down upon 
me, and said that I must not waste my time writing 
poetry, but discipline my mind by the study of Butler's 
' Analogy.' So after this I wrote out abstracts from 
the 'Analogy,' and instructed a class of girls as old as 
myself, being compelled to master each chapter just 
ahead of the class I was teaching. About this time I 
read Baxter's ' Saint's Rest.' I do not think any book 
affected me more powerfully. As I walked the pave- 
ments I used to wish that they might sink beneath me 
if only I might find myself in heaven. I was at the 
same time very much interested in Butler's ' Analogy,' 
for Mr. Brace used to lecture on such themes when I 
was at Miss Pierce's school at Litchfield. I also began 
the study of French and Italian with a Miss Degan, 
who was born in Italy. 


" It was about this time that I first believed myself 
to be a Christian. I was spending my summer vacation 
at home, in Litchfield. I shall ever remember that 
dewy, fresh summer morning. I knew that it was a 
sacramental Sunday, and thought with sadness that 
when all the good people should take the sacrificial 
bread and wine I should be left out. I tried hard to 
feel my sins and count them up ; but what with the 
birds, the daisies, and the brooks that rippled by the 
way, it was impossible. I came into church quite dis- 
satisfied with myself, and as I looked upon the pure 
white cloth, the snowy bread and shining cups, of the 
communion table, thought with a sigh : i There won't 
be anything for me to-day ; it is all for these grown-up 
Christians.' Nevertheless, when father began to speak, 
I was drawn to listen by a certain pathetic earnestness 
in his voice. Most of father's sermons were as unin- 
telligible to me as if he had spoken in Choctaw. But 
sometimes he preached what he was accustomed to call 
a ' frame sermon ; ' that is, a sermon that sprung out 
of the deep feeling of the occasion, and which conse- 
quently could be neither premeditated nor repeated. 
His text was taken from the Gospel of John, the decla- 
ration of Jesus : ' Behold, I call you no longer servants, 
but friends.' His theme was Jesus as a soul friend 
offered to every human being. 

" Forgetting all his hair-splitting distinctions and 
lialectic subtleties, he spoke in direct, simple, and 
ender language of the great love of Christ and his 

• are for the soul. He pictured Him as patient with 

• >ur errors, compassionate with our weaknesses, and 
\ ympathetic for our sorrows. He went on to say how 


He was ever near us, enlightening our ignorance, guid- 
ing our wanderings, comforting our sorrows with a love 
unwearied by faults, unchilled by ingratitude, till at 
last He should present us faultless before the throne of 
his glory with exceeding joy. 

" I sat intent and absorbed. Oh ! how much I 
needed just such a friend, I thought to myself. Then 
the awful fact came over me that I had never had any 
conviction of my sins, and consequently could not come 
to Him. I longed to cry out ' I will,' when father 
made his passionate appeal, ' Come, then, and trust 
your soul to this faithful friend.' Like a flash it came 
over me that if I needed conviction of sin, He was able 
to give me even this also. I would trust Him for the 
whole. My whole soul was illumined with joy, and 
as I left the church to walk home, it seemed to me as 
if Nature herself were hushing her breath to hear the 
music of heaven. 

" As soon as father came home and was seated in his 
study, I went up to him and fell in his arms saying, 
' Father, I have given myself to Jesus, and He has taken 
me.' I never shall forget the expression of his face as 
he looked down into my earnest, childish eyes ; it was 
so sweet, so gentle, and like sunlight breaking out upon 
a landscape. ' Is it so ? ' he said, holding me silently 
to his heart, as I felt the hot tears fall on my head. 
' Then has a new flower blossomed in the kingdom this 
day.' " 

If she could have been let alone, and taught " to look 
up and not down, forward and not back, out and not 
in," this religious experience might have gone on as 
sweetly and naturally as the opening of a flower in the 


gentle rays of the sun. But unfortunately this was 
not possible at that time, when self-examination was 
carried to an extreme that was calculated to drive a 
nervous and sensitive mind well-nigh distracted. First, 
even her sister Catherine was afraid that there might 
be something wrong in the case of a lamb that had 
come into the fold without being first chased all over 
the lot by the shepherd ; great stress being laid, in 
those days, on what was called " being under convic- 
tion." Then also the pastor of the First Church in 
Hartford, a bosom friend of Dr. Beecher, looked with 
melancholy and suspicious eyes on this unusual and 
doubtful path to heaven, — but more of this hereafter. 
Harriet's conversion took place in the summer of 1825, 
when she was fourteen, and the following year, April, 
1826, Dr. Beecher resigned his pastorate in Litchfield 
to accept a call to the Hanover Street Church, Boston, 
Mass. In a letter to her grandmother Foote at Guil- 
ford, dated Hartford, March 4, 1826, Harriet writes : — 

" You have probably heard that our home in Litch- 
field is broken up. Papa has received a call to Boston, 
and concluded to accept, because he could not support 
his family in Litchfield. He was dismissed last week 
Tuesday, and will be here (Hartford) next Tuesday 
ivith mamma and Isabel. Aunt Esther will take 
Dharles and Thomas to her house for the present. 
Papa's salary is to be $2,000 and $500 settlement. 

"I attend school constantly and am making some 
)rogress in my studies. I devote most of my attention 
■ o Latin and to arithmetic, and hope soon to prepare 
3 oyself to assist Catherine in the school." 

This breaking up of the Litchfield home led Harriet, 


under her father's advice, to seek to connect herself 
with the First Church of Hartford. Accordingly, 
accompanied by two of her school friends, she went one 
day to the pastor's study to consult with him concern- 
ing the contemplated step. The good man listened 
attentively to the child's simple and modest statement 
of Christian experience, and then with an awful, though 
kindly, solemnity of speech and manner said, " Harriet, 
do you feel that if the universe should be destroyed 
(awful pause) you could be happy with God alone ? " 
After struggling in vain, in her mental bewilderment, 
to fix in her mind some definite conception of the 
meaning of the sounds which fell on her ear like the 
measured strokes of a bell, the child of fourteen stam- 
mered out, " Yes, sir." 

" You realize, I trust," continued the doctor, " in 
some measure at least, the deceitfulness of your heart, 
and that in punishment for your sins God might justly 
leave you to make yourself as miserable as you have 
made yourself sinful ? " 

" Yes, sir," again stammered Harriet. 

Having thus effectually, and to his own satisfaction, 
fixed the child's attention on the morbid and over-sen- 
sitive workings of her own heart, the good and truly 
kind-hearted man dismissed her with a fatherly bene- 
diction. But where was the joyous ecstasy of that 
beautiful Sabbath morning of a year ago? Where 
was that heavenly friend ? Yet was not this as it 
should be, and might not God leave her " to make her- 
self as miserable as she had made herself sinful " ? 

In a letter addressed to her brother Edward, about 
this time, she writes : " My whole life is one continued 


struggle : I do nothing right. I yield to temptation 
almost as soon as it assails me. My deepest feelings 
are very evanescent. I am beset behind and before, 
and my sins take away all my happiness. But that 
which most constantly besets me is pride — I can trace 
almost all my sins back to it." 

In the mean time, the school is prospering. Febru- 
ary 16, 1827, Catherine writes to Dr. Beecher : " My 
affairs go on well. The stock is all taken up, and next 
week I hope to have out the prospectus of the ' Hart- 
ford Female Seminary.' I hope the building will be 
done, and all things in order, by June. The English 
lady is coming with twelve pupils from New York." 
Speaking of Harriet, who was at this time with her 
father in Boston, she adds : u I have received some let- 
ters from Harriet to-day which make me feel uneasy. 
She says, i I don't know as I am fit for anything, and I 
have thought that I could wish to die young, and let 
the remembrance of me and my faults perish in the 
grave, rather than live, as I fear I do, a trouble to 
every one. You don't know how perfectly wretched I 
often feel : so useless, so weak, so destitute of all 
energy. Mamma often tells me that I am a strange, 
inconsistent being. Sometimes I could not sleep, and 
have groaned and cried till midnight, while in the day- 
time I tried to appear cheerful and succeeded so well 
that papa reproved me for laughing so much. I was 
so absent sometimes that I made strange mistakes, and 
then they all laughed at me, and I laughed, too, 
though I felt as though I should go distracted. I 
wrote rules ; made out a regular system for dividing 
my time ; but my feelings vary so much that it is al- 
most impossible for me to be regular.' " 



But let Harriet " take courage in her dark sorrows 
and melancholies," as Carlyle says : " Samuel Johnson 
too had hypochondrias ; all great souls are apt to have, 
and to be in thick darkness generally till the eternal 
ways and the celestial guiding stars disclose themselves, 
and the vague abyss of life knits itself up into firma- 
ments for them." 

At the same time (the winter of 1827), Catherine 
writes to Edward concerning Harriet : " If she could 
come here (Hartford) it might be the best thing for 
her, for she can talk freely to me. I can get her 
books, and Catherine Cogswell, Georgiana May, and 
her friends here could do more for her than any one 
in Boston, for they love her and she loves them very 
much. Georgiana' s difficulties are different from Har- 
riet's : she is speculating about doctrines, etc. Harriet 
will have young society here all the time, which she 
cannot have at home, and I think cheerful and amus- 
ing friends will do much for her. I can do better in 
preparing her to teach drawing than any one else, for I 
best know what is needed." 

It was evidently necessary that something should be 
done to restore Harriet to a more tranquil and health- 
ful frame of mind; consequently in the spring of 
1827, accompanied by her friend Georgiana May, she 
went to visit her grandmother Foote at Nut Plains, 
Guilford. Miss May refers to this visit in a letter to 
Mrs. Foote, in January of the following winter. 

Hartford, January 4, 1828. 

Dear Mrs. Foote : — . . .1 very often think of 
you and the happy hours I passed at your house last 


spring. It seems as if it were but yesterday : now, 
while I am writing, I can see your pleasant house and 
the familiar objects around you as distinctly as the day 
I left them. Harriet and I are very much the same 
girls we were then. I do not believe we have altered 
very much, though she is improved in some respects. 

The August following this visit to Guilford Harriet 
writes to her brother Edward in a vein which is still 
streaked with sadness, but shows some indication of 
returning health of mind. 

" Many of my objections you did remove that after- 
noon we spent together. After that I was not as un- 
happy as I had been. I felt, nevertheless, that my 
views were very indistinct and contradictory, and feared 
that if you left me thus I might return to the same 
dark, desolate state in which I had been all summer. 
I felt that my immortal interest, my happiness for both 
worlds, was depending on the turn my feelings might 
take. In my disappointment and distress I called upon 
God, and it seemed as if I was heard. I felt that He 
could supply the loss of all earthly love. All misery 
and darkness were over. I felt as if restored, never- 
more to fall. Such sober certainty of waking bliss had 
long been a stranger to me. But even then I had 
doubts as to whether these feelings were right, because 
I felt love to God alone without that ardent love for 
my fellow-creatures which Christians have often felt. 
... I cannot say exactly what it is makes me reluc- 
tant to speak of my feelings. It costs me an effort to 
express feeling of any kind, but more particularly to 
speak of my private religious feelings. If any one 


questions me, my first impulse is to conceal all I can. 
As for expression of affection towards my brothers 
and sisters, my companions or friends, the stronger 
the affection the less inclination have I to express it. 
Yet sometimes I think myself the most frank, open, 
and communicative of beings, and at other times the 
most reserved. If you can resolve all these caprices 
into general principles, you will do more than I can. 
Your speaking so much philosophically has a tendency 
to repress confidence. We never wish to have our 
feelings analyzed down ; and very little, nothing, that 
we say brought to the test of mathematical demonstra- 

" It appears to me that if I only could adopt the 
views of God you presented to my mind, they would 
exert a strong and beneficial influence over my char- 
acter. But I am afraid to accept them for several rea- 
sons. First, it seems to be taking from the majesty 
and dignity of the divine character to suppose that his 
happiness can be at all affected by the conduct of his 
sinful, erring creatures. Secondly, it seems to me that 
such views of God would have an effect on our own 
minds in lessening that reverence and fear which is one 
of the greatest motives to us for action. For, although 
to a generous mind the thought of the love of God 
would be a sufficient incentive to action, there are times 
of coldness when that love is not felt, and then there 
remains no sort of stimulus. I find as I adopt these 
sentiments I feel less fear of God, and, in view of sin, 
I feel only a sensation of grief which is more easily dis- 
pelled and forgotten than that I formerly felt." 

A letter dated January 3, 1828, shows us that Har- 


riet had returned to Hartford and was preparing her- 
self to teach drawing and painting, under the direction 
of her sister Catherine. 

My dear Grandmother, — I should have written 
before to assure you of my remembrance of you, but I 
have been constantly employed, from nine in the morn- 
ing till after dark at night, in taking lessons of a paint- 
ing and drawing master, with only an intermission long 
enough to swallow a little dinner which was sent to me 
in the school-room. You may easily believe that after 
spending the day in this manner, I did not feel in a very 
epistolary humor in the evening, and if I had been, I 
could not have written, for when I did not go immedi- 
ately to bed I was obliged to get a long French lesson. 

The seminary is finished, and the school going on 
nicely. Miss Clarissa Brown is assisting Catherine in 
the school. Besides her, Catherine, and myself, there 
are two other teachers who both board in the family 
with us : one is Miss Degan, an Italian lady who 
teaches French and Italian ; she rooms with me, and is 
very interesting and agreeable. Miss Hawks is room- 
ing with Catherine. In some respects she reminds me 
very much of my mother. She is gentle, affectionate, 
modest, and retiring, and much beloved by all the 
scholars. ... I am still going on with my French, 
and carrying two young ladies through Virgil, and if 
I have time, shall commence Italian. 

I am very comfortable and happy. 

I propose, my dear grandmamma, to send you by 
the first opportunity a dish of fruit of my own paint- 
ing. Pray do not now devour it in anticipation, for I 


cannot promise that you will not find it sadly tasteless 
in reality. If so, please excuse it, for the sake of the 
poor young artist. I admire to cultivate a taste for 
painting, and I wish to improve it ; it was what my 
dear mother admired and loved, and I cherish it for her 
sake. I have thought more of this dearest of all earthly 
friends these late years, since I have been old enough 
to know her character and appreciate her worth. I 
sometimes think that, had she lived, I might have been 
both better and happier than I now am, but God is 
good and wise in all his ways. 

A letter written to her brother Edward in Boston, 
dated March 27, 1828, shows how slowly she adopted 
the view of God that finally became one of the most 
characteristic elements in her writings. 

" I think that those views of God which you have 
presented to me have had an influence in restoring my 
mind to its natural tone. But still, after all, God is a 
being afar off. He is so far above us that anything 
but the most distant reverential affection seems almost 
sacrilegious. It is that affection that can lead us to be 
familiar that the heart needs. But easy and familiar 
expressions of attachment and that sort of confidential 
communication which I should address to papa or you 
would be improper for a subject to address to a king, 
much less for us to address to the King of kings. The 
language of prayer is of necessity stately and formal, 
and we cannot clothe all the little minutiae of our wants 
and troubles in it. I wish I could describe to you how 
I feel when I pray. I feel that I love God, — that is, 
that I love Christ, — that I find comfort and happiness 


in it, and yet it is not that kind of comfort which 
would arise from free communication of my wants and 
sorrows to a friend. I sometimes wish that the Saviour 
were visibly present in this world, that I might go to 
Him for a solution of some of my difficulties. . . . Do 
you think, my dear brother, that there is such a thing 
as so realizing the presence and character of God that 
He can supply the place of earthly friends ? I really 
wish to know what you think of this. . . . Do you 
suppose that God really loves sinners before they come 
to Him ? Some say that we ought to tell them that 
God hates them, that He looks on them with utter ab- 
horrence, and that they must love Him before He will 
look on them otherwise. Is it right to say to those 
who are in deep distress, ' God is interested in you ; He 
feels for and loves you ' ? " 

Appended to this letter is a short note from Miss 
Catherine Beecher, who evidently read the letter over 
and answered Harriet's questions herself. She writes : 
" When the young man came to Jesus, is it not said 
that Jesus loved him, though he was unrenewed ? " 

In April, 1828, Harriet again writes to her brother 
Edward : — 

"I have had more reason to be grateful to that 
friend than ever before. He has not left me in all my 
weakness. It seems to me that my love to Him is the 
love of despair. All my communion with Him, though 
sorrowful, is soothing. I am painfully sensible of ig- 
norance and deficiency, but still I feel that I am will- 
ing that He should know all. He will look on all that 
is wrong only to purify and reform. He will never be 
irritated or impatient. He will never show me my 


faults in such a manner as to irritate without helping 
me. A friend to whom I would acknowledge all my 
faults must be perfect. Let any one once be provoked, 
once speak harshly to me, once sweep all the chords of 
my soul out of tune, I never could confide there again. 
It is only to the most perfect Being in the universe 
that imperfection can look and hope for patience. How 
strange ! . . . You do not know how harsh and for- 
bidding everything seems, compared with his character. 
All through the day in my intercourse with others, 
everything has a tendency to destroy the calmness of 
mind gained by communion with Him. One flatters 
me, another is angry with me, another is unjust to me. 

" You speak of your predilections for literature hav- 
ing been a snare to you. I have found it so myself. 
I can scarcely think, without tears and indignation, 
that all that is beautiful and lovely and poetical has 
been laid on other altars. Oh ! will there never be a 
poet with a heart enlarged and purified by the Holy 
Spirit, who shall throw all the graces of harmony, 
all the enchantments of feeling, pathos, and poetry, 
around sentiments worthy of them? ... It matters 
little what service He has for me. ... I do not mean 
to live in vain. He has given me talents, and I will 
lay them at his feet, well satisfied, if He will accept 
them. All my powers He can enlarge. He made my 
mind, and He can teach me to cultivate and exert its 

The following November she writes from Groton, 
Conn., to Miss May : — 

" I am in such an uncertain, unsettled state, travel- 
ing back and forth, that I have very little time to write. 


In the first place, on my arrival in Boston I was 
obliged to spend two days in talking and telling news. 
Then after that came calling, visiting, etc., and then I 
came off to Groton to see my poor brother George, who 
was quite out of spirits and in very trying circum- 
stances. To-morrow I return to Boston and spend four 
or five days, and then go to Franklin, where I spend 
the rest of my vacation. 

" I found the folks all well on my coming to Boston, 
and as to my new brother, James, he has nothing to 
distinguish him from forty other babies, except a very 
large pair of blue eyes and an uncommonly fair com- 
plexion, a thing which is of no sort of use or advan- 
tage to a man or boy. 

" I am thinking very seriously of remaining in Gro- 
ton and taking care of the female school, and at the 
same time being of assistance and company for George. 
On some accounts it would not be so pleasant as re- 
turning to Hartford, for I should be among strangers. 
Nothing upon this point can be definitely decided till 
I have returned to Boston, and talked to papa and 

Evidently papa and Catherine did not approve of 
the Groton plan, for in February of the following 
winter Harriet writes from Hartford to Edward, who 
is at this time with his father in Boston : — 

" My situation this winter (1829) is in many respects 
pleasant. I room with three other teachers, Miss 
Fisher, Miss Mary Dutton, and Miss Brigham. Ann 
Fisher you know. Miss Dutton is about twenty, has a 
fine mathematical mind, and has gone as far into that 
science perhaps as most students at college. She is 


also, as I am told, quite learned in the languages. . . . 
Miss Brigham is somewhat older : is possessed of a fine 
mind and most unconquerable energy and perseverance 
of character. From early childhood she has been de- 
termined to obtain an education, and to attain to a cer- 
tain standard. Where persons are determined to be 
anything, they will be. I think, for this reason, she 
will make a first-rate character. Such are my compan- 
ions. We spend our time in school during the day, 
and in studying in the evening. My plan of study is 
to read rhetoric and prepare exercises for my class the 
first half hour in the evening; after that the rest of 
the evening is divided between French and Italian. 
Thus you see the plan of my employment and the char- 
acter of my immediate companions. Besides these, 
there are others among the teachers and scholars who 
must exert an influence over my character. Miss De- 
gan, whose constant occupation it is to make others 
laugh ; Mrs. Gamage, her room-mate, a steady, de- 
voted, sincere Christian. . . . Little things have great 
power over me, and if I meet with the least thing that 
crosses my feelings, I am often rendered unhappy for 
days and weeks. ... I wish I could bring myself to 
feel perfectly indifferent to the opinions of others. I 
believe that there never was a person more dependent 
on the good and evil opinions of those around than I 
am. This desire to be loved forms, I fear, the great 
motive for all my actions. ... I have been reading 
carefully the book of Job, and I do not think that it 
contains the views of God which you presented to me. 
God seems to have stripped a dependent creature of all 
that renders life desirable, and then to have answered 


his complaints from the whirlwind; and instead of 
showing mercy and pity, to have overwhelmed him by 
a display of his power and justice. . . . With the view 
I received from you, I should have expected that a be- 
ing who sympathizes with his guilty, afflicted creatures 
would not have spoken thus. Yet, after all, I do be- 
lieve that God is such a being as you represent Him to 
be, and in the New Testament I find in the character 
of Jesus Christ a revelation of God as merciful and 
compassionate ; in fact, just such a God as I need. 

" Somehow or another you have such a reasonable 
sort of way of saying things that when I come to re- 
flect I almost always go over to your side. . . . My 
mind is often perplexed, and such thoughts arise in it 
that I cannot pray, and I become bewildered. The 
wonder to me is, how all ministers and all Christians 
can feel themselves so inexcusably sinful, when it seems 
to me we all come into the world in such a way that it 
would be miraculous if we did not sin. Mr. Hawes 
always says in prayer, * We have nothing to offer in 
extenuation of any of our sins,' and I always think 
when he says it, that we have everything to offer in 
extenuation. The case seems to me exactly as if I had 
been brought into the world with such a thirst for 
ardent spirits that there was just a possibility, though 
no hope, that I should resist, and then my eternal hap- 
piness made dependent on my being temperate. Some- 
times when I try to confess my sins, I feel that after 
all I am more to be pitied than blamed, for I have 
never known the time when I have not had a tempta- 
tion within me so strong that it was certain I should 
not overcome it. This thought shocks me, but it 


comes with such force, and so appealingly, to all my 
consciousness, that it stifles all sense of sin. . . . 

" Sometimes when I read the Bible, it seems to be 
wholly grounded on the idea that the sin of man is 
astonishing, inexcusable, and without palliation or cause, 
and the atonement is spoken of as such a wonderful 
and undeserved mercy that I am filled with amazement. 
Yet if I give up the Bible I gain nothing, for the 
providence of God in nature is just as full of mystery, 
and of the two I think that the Bible, with all its diffi- 
culties, is preferable to being without it ; for the Bible 
holds out the hope that in a future world all shall be 
made plain. ... So you see I am, as Mr. Hawes says, 
i on the waves,' and all I can do is to take the word of 
God that He does do right and there I rest." 

The following summer, in July, she writes to Ed- 
ward : " I have never been so happy as this summer. 
I began it in more suffering than I ever before have 
felt, but there is One whom I daily thank for all that 
suffering, since I hope that it has brought me at last 
to rest entirely in Him. I do hope that my long, long 
course of wandering and darkness and unhappiness is 
over, and that I have found in Him who died for me 
all, and more than all, I could desire. Oh, Edward, you 
can feel as I do ; you can speak of Him ! There are 
few, very few, who can. Christians in general do not 
seem to look to Him as their best friend, or realize any- 
thing of his unutterable love. They speak with a cold, 
vague, reverential awe, but do not speak as if in the 
habit of close and near communion ; as if they confided 
to Him every joy and sorrow and constantly looked to 
Him for direction and guidance. I cannot express to 


you, my brother, I cannot tell you, how that Saviour 
appears to me. To bear with one so imperfect, so 
weak, so inconsistent, as myself, implied long-suffering 
and patience more than words can express. I love 
most to look on Christ as my teacher, as one who, 
knowing the utmost of my sinfulness, my waywardness, 
my folly, can still have patience ; can reform, purify, 
and daily make me more like himself." 

So, after four years of struggling and suffering, she 
returns to the place where she started from as a child 
of thirteen. It has been like watching a ship with 
straining masts and storm-beaten sails, buffeted by the 
waves, making for the harbor, and coming at last to 
quiet anchorage. There have been, of course, times of 
darkness and depression, but never any permanent loss 
of the religious trustfulness and peace of mind indi- 
cated by this letter. 

The next three years were passed partly in Boston, 
and partly in Guilford and Hartford. Writing of this 
period of her life to the Rev. Charles Beecher, she 
says : — 

My dear Brother, — The looking over of father's 
letters in the period of his Boston life brings forcibly 
to my mind many recollections. At this time I was 
more with him, and associated in companionship of 
thought and feeling for a longer period than any other 
of my experience. 

In the summer of 1832 she writes to Miss May, 
revealing her spiritual and intellectual life in a degree 
unusual, even for her. 



" After the disquisition on myself above cited, you 
will be prepared to understand the changes through 
which this wonderful ego et me ipse has passed. 

" The amount of the matter has been, as this inner 
world of mine has become worn out and untenable, I 
have at last concluded to come out of it and live in the 

external one, and, as F S once advised me, to 

give up the pernicious habit of meditation to the first 
Methodist minister that would take it, and try to mix 
in society somewhat as another person would. 

tt t floras non nurnero nisi serenas.' Uncle Sam- 
uel, who sits by me, has just been reading the above 
motto, the inscription on a sun-dial in Venice. It 
strikes me as having a distant relationship to what I 
was going to say. I have come to a firm resolution to 
count no hours but unclouded ones, and to let all 
others slip out of my memory and reckoning as quickly 
as possible. . . . 

" I am trying to cultivate a general spirit of kindli- 
ness towards everybody. Instead of shrinking into a 
corner to notice how other people behave, I am holding 
out my hand to the right and to the left, and forming 
casual or incidental acquaintances with all who will be 
acquainted with me. In this way I find society full of 
interest and pleasure — a pleasure which pleaseth me 
more because it is not old and worn out. From these 
friendships I expect little ; therefore generally receive 
more than I expect. From past friendships I have 
expected everything, and must of necessity have been 
disappointed. The kind words and looks arid smiles I 
call forth by looking and smiling are not much by 
themselves, but they form a very pretty flower border 


to the way of life. They embellish the day or the 
hour as it passes, and when they fade they only do just 
as you expected they would. This kind of pleasure in 
acquaintanceship is new to me. I never tried it before. 
When I used to meet persons, the first inquiry was, 
' Have they such and such a character, or have they 
anything that might possibly be of use or harm to 
me c 

It is striking, the degree of interest a letter had for 

" Your long letter came this morning. It revived 
much in my heart. Just think how glad I must have 
been this morning to hear from you. I was glad. . . . 
I thought of it through all the vexations of school this 
morning. ... I have a letter at home ; and when I 
came home from school, I went leisurely over it. 

" This evening I have spent in a little social party, 
— a dozen or so, — and I have been zealously talking 
all the evening. When I came to my cold, lonely room, 
there was your letter lying on the dressing-table. It 
touched me with a sort of painful pleasure, for it seems, 
to me uncertain, improbable, that I shall ever return 
and find you as I have found your letter. Oh, my 

dear G , it is scarcely well to love friends thus. 

The greater part that I see cannot move me deeply. 
They are present, and I enjoy them ; they pass and I 
forget them. But those that I love differently ; those 
that I love ; and oh, how much that word means ! I 
feel sadly about them. They may change ; they must 
die; they are separated from me, and I ask myself 
why should I wish to love with all the pains and penal- 
ties of such conditions ? I check myself when express- 


ing feelings like this, so much has been said of it by 
the sentimental, who talk what they could not have 
felt. But it is so deeply, sincerely so in me, that some- 
times it will overflow. Well, there is a heaven, — a 
heaven, — a world of love, and love after all is the life- 
blood, the existence, the all in all of mind." 

This is the key to her whole life. She was impelled 
by love, and did what she did, and wrote what she 
did, under the impulse of love. Never could " Uncle 
Tom's Cabin " or " The Minister's Wooing " have been 
written, unless by one to whom love was the " life-blood 
of existence, the all in all of mind." Years afterwards 
Mrs. Browning was to express this same thought in the 
language of poetry. 

" But when a soul by choice and conscience doth 
Throw out her full force on another soul, 
The conscience and the concentration both 
Make mere life love. For life in perfect whole 
And aim consummated is love in sooth, 
As nature's magnet heat rounds pole with pole." 


CINCINNATI, 1833-1836. 

Dr. Beecher called to Cincinnati. — The Westward Journey. 

— First Letter from Home. — Description of Walnut Hills. 

— Starting a New School. — Inward Glimpses. — The Semi- 
Colon Club. — Early Impressions of Slavery. — A Journey 
to the East. — Thoughts aroused by First Visit to Niag- 
ara. — Marriage to Professor Stowe. 

In 1832, after having been settled for six years over 
the Hanover Street Church in Boston, Dr. Beecher 
received and finally accepted a most urgent call to 
become President of Lane Theological Seminary in Cin- 
cinnati. This institution had been chartered in 1829, 
and in 1831 funds to the amount of nearly $70,000 
had been promised to it provided that Dr. Beecher 
accepted the presidency. It was hard for this New 
England family to sever the ties of a lifetime and enter 
on so long a journey to the far distant West of those 
days ; but being fully persuaded that their duty lay in 
this direction, they undertook to perform it cheerfully 
and willingly. With Dr. Beecher and his wife were 
to go Miss Catherine Beecher, who had conceived the 
scheme of founding in Cincinnati, then considered the 
capital of the West, a female college, and Harriet, who 
was to act as her principal assistant. In the party 
were also George, who was to enter Lane as a student, 
Isabella, James, the youngest son, and Miss Esther 
Beecher, the " Aunt Esther " of the children. 


Before making his final decision, Dr. Beecher, ac- 
companied by his daughter Catherine, visited Cincin- 
nati to take a general survey of their proposed battle- 
field, and their impressions of the city are given in the 
following letter written by the latter to Harriet in Bos- 
ton : — 

" Here we are at last at our journey's end, alive and 
well. We are staying with Uncle Samuel (Foote), 
whose establishment I will try and sketch for you. It 
is on a height in the upper part of the city, and com- 
mands a fine view of the whole of the lower town. 
The city does not impress me as being so very new. It 
is true everything looks neat and clean, but it is com- 
pact, and many of the houses are of brick and very 
handsomely built. The streets run at right angles to 
each other, and are wide and well paved. We reached 
here in three days from Wheeling, and soon felt our- 
selves at home. The next day father and I, with three 
gentlemen, walked out to Walnut Hills. The country 
around the city consists of a constant succession and 
variety of hills of all shapes and sizes, forming an ex- 
tensive amphitheatre. The site of the seminary is very 
beautiful and picturesque, though I was disappointed 
to find that both river and city are hidden by interven- 
ing hills. I never saw a place so capable of being ren- 
dered a paradise by the improvements of taste as the 
environs of this city. Walnut Hills are so elevated 
and cool that people have to leave there to be sick, it 
is said. The seminary is located on a farm of one hun- 
dred and twenty-five acres of fine land, with groves of 
superb trees around it, about two miles from the city. 
We have finally decided on the spot where our house 


shall stand in case we decide to come, and you cannot 
(where running water or the seashore is wanting) find 
another more delightful spot for a residence. It is on 
an eminence, with a grove running up from the back 
to the very doors, another grove across the street in 
front, and fine openings through which distant hills and 
the richest landscapes appear. 

" I have become somewhat acquainted with those 
ladies we shall have the most to do with, and find them 
intelligent, New England sort of folks. Indeed, this 
is a New England city in all its habits, and its inhab- 
itants are more than half from New England. The 
Second Church, which is the best in the city, will give 
father a unanimous call to be their minister, with the 
understanding that he will give them what time he can 
spare from the seminary. 

" I know of no place in the world where there is so 
fair a prospect of finding everything that makes social 
and domestic life pleasant. Uncle John and Uncle 
Samuel are just the intelligent, sociable, free, and hos- 
pitable sort of folk that everybody likes and everybody 
feels at home with. 

" The folks are very anxious to have a school on our 
plan set on foot here. We can have fine rooms in the 
city college building, which is now unoccupied, and 
everybody is ready to lend a helping hand. As to 
father, I never saw such a field of usefulness and in- 
fluence as is offered to him here." 

This, then, was the field of labor in which the next 
eighteen years of the life of Mrs. Stowe were to be 
passed. At this time her sister Mary was married and 
living in Hartford, her brothers Henry Ward and 


Charles were in college, while William and Edward, al- 
ready licensed to preach, were preparing to follow their 
father to the West. 

Mr. Beecher's preliminary journey to Cincinnati was 
undertaken in the early spring of 1832, but he was not 
ready to remove his family until October of that year. 
An interesting account of this westward journey is 
given by Mrs. Stowe in a letter sent back to Hartford 
from Cincinnati, as follows : — 

" Well, my dear, the great sheet is out and the letter 
is begun. All our family are here (in New York), and 
in good health. 

" Father is to perform to-night in the Chatham 
Theatre ! l positively for the last time this season ! ' 
I don't know, I 'm sure, as we shall ever get to Pitts- 
burgh. Father is staying here begging money for the 
Biblical Literature professorship ; the incumbent is to 
be C. Stowe. Last night we had a call from Arthur 
Tappan and Mr. Eastman. Father begged $2,000 
yesterday, and now the good people are praying him 
to abide certain days, as he succeeds so well. They are 
talking of sending us off and keeping him here. I 
really dare not go and see Aunt Esther and mother 
now ; they were in the depths of tribulation before at 
staying so long, and now, 

' In the lowest depths, another deep ! ' 

Father is in high spirits. He is all in his own element, 
— dipping into books ; consulting authorities for his 
oration ; going round here, there, everywhere ; begging, 
borrowing, and spoiling the Egyptians ; delighted with 
past success and confident for the future. 


" Wednesday. Still in New York. I believe it 
would kill me dead to live long in the way I have been 
doing since I have been here. It is a sort of agreeable 
delirium. There's only one thing about it, it is too 
scattering. I begin to be athirst for the waters of 

Writing from Philadelphia, she adds : — 
" Well, we did get away from New York at last, but 
it was through much tribulation. The truckman carr 
ried all the family baggage to the wrong wharf, and, 
after waiting and waiting on board the boat, we were 
obliged to start without it, George remaining to look it 
up. Arrived here late Saturday evening, — dull, driz- 
zling weather ; poor Aunt Esther in dismay, — not a 
clean cap to put on, — mother in like state ; all of us 
destitute. We went, half to Dr. Skinner's and half to 
Mrs. Elmes's : mother, Aunt Esther, father, and James 
to the former ; Kate, Bella, and myself to Mr. Elmes's. 
They are rich, hospitable folks, and act the part of 
Gaius in apostolic times. . . . Our trunks came this 
morning. Father stood and saw them all brought into 
Dr. Skinner's entry, and then he swung his hat and 
gave a ' hurrah,' as any man would whose wife had not 
had a clean cap or ruffle for a week. Father does not 
succeed very well in opening purses here. Mr. East- 
man says, however, that this is not of much conse- 
quence. I saw to-day a notice in the l Philadelphian ' 
about father, setting forth how ' this distinguished 
brother, with his large family, having torn themselves 
from the endearing scenes of their home/ etc., etc., 
1 were going, like Jacob,' etc., — a very scriptural and 
appropriate flourish. It is too much after the manner 


of men, or, as Paul says, speaking i as a fool.' A num- 
ber of the pious people of this city are coming here this 
evening to hold a prayer-meeting with reference to the 
journey and its object. For this I thank them." 

From Downington she writes : — 

" Here we all are, — Noah and his wife and his sons 
and his daughters, with the cattle and creeping things, 
all dropped down in the front parlor of this tavern, 
about thirty miles from Philadelphia. If to-day is a 
fair specimen of our journey, it will be a very pleasant, 
obliging driver, good roads, good spirits, good dinner, 
fine scenery, and now and then some ' psalms and 
hymns and spiritual songs ; ' for with George on board 
you may be sure of music of some kind. Moreover, 
George has provided himself with a quantity of tracts, 
and he and the children have kept up a regular dis- 
charge at all the wayfaring people we encountered. I 
tell him he is peppering the land with moral influ- 

" We are all well ; all in good spirits. Just let me 
give you a peep into our traveling household. Behold 
us, then, in the front parlor of this country inn, all as 
much at home as if we were in Boston. Father is sit- 
ting opposite to me at this table, reading ; Kate is writ- 
ing a billet-doux to Mary on a sheet like this ; Thomas 
is opposite, writing in a little journal that he keeps; 
Sister Bell, too, has her little record ; George is waiting 
for a seat that he may produce his paper and write. As 
for me, among the multitude of my present friends, my 
heart still makes occasional visits to absent ones, — 
visits full of pleasure, and full of cause of gratitude to 
Him who gives us friends. I have thought of you 


often to-day, my G. We stopped this noon at a sub- 
stantial Pennsylvania tavern, and among the flowers in 
the garden was a late monthly honeysuckle like the one 
at North Guilford. I made a spring for it, but George 
secured the finest bunch, which he wore in his button- 
hole the rest of the noon. 

" This afternoon, as we were traveling, we struck up 
and sang ' Jubilee.' It put me in mind of the time 
when we used to ride along the rough North Guilford 
roads and make the air vocal as we went along. Pleas- 
ant times those. Those were blue skies, and that was 
a beautiful lake and noble pine-trees and rocks they 
were that hung over it. But those we shall look upon 
1 na mair.' 

" Well, my dear, there is a land where we shall not 
love and leave. Those skies shall never cease to shine, 
the waters of life we shall never be called upon to 
leave. We have here no continuing city, but we seek 
one to come. In such thoughts as these I desire ever 
to rest, and with such words as these let us ' comfort 
one another and edify one another.' " 

" Harrisburg, Sunday evening. Mother, Aunt Esther, 
George, and the little folks have just gathered into 
Kate's room, and we have just been singing. Father 
has gone to preach for Mr. De Witt. To-morrow we 
expect to travel sixty-two miles, and in two more days 
shall reach Wheeling ; there we shall take the steam- 
boat to Cincinnati." 

On the same journey George Beecher writes : — 

" We had poor horses in crossing the mountains. 
Our average rate for the last four days to Wheeling 
was forty-four miles. The journey, which takes the 


mail-stage forty-eight hours, took us eight days. At 
Wheeling we deliberated long whether to go on board 
a boat for Cincinnati, but the prevalence of the cholera 
there at last decided us to remain. While at Wheeling 
father preached eleven times, — nearly every evening, 
— and gave them the Taylorite heresy on sin and de- 
crees to the highest notch ; and what amused me most 
was to hear him establish it from the Confession of 
Faith. It went high and dry, however, above all objec- 
tions, and they were delighted with it, even the old 
school men, since it had not been christened ' heresy ' 
in their hearing. After remaining in Wheeling eight 
days, we chartered a stage for Cincinnati, and started 
next morning. 

"At Granville, Ohio, we were invited to stop and 
attend a protracted meeting. Being in no great hurry 
to enter Cincinnati till the cholera had left, we con- 
sented. We spent the remainder of the week there, 
and I preached five times and father four. The inter- 
est was increasingly deep and solemn each day, and 
when we left there were forty-five cases of conversion 
in the town, besides those from the surrounding towns. 
The people were astonished at the doctrine ; said they 
never saw the truth so plain in their fives." 

Although the new-comers were cordially welcomed 
in Cincinnati, and everything possible was done for 
their comfort and to make them feel at home, they felt 
themselves to be strangers in a strange land. Their 
homesickness and yearnings for New England are set 
forth by the following extracts from Mrs. Stowe's an- 
swer to the first letter they received from Hartford 
after leaving there : — 


My dear Sister (Mary), — The Hartford letter 
from all and sundry has just arrived, and after cutting 
all manner of capers expressive of thankfulness, I have 
skipped three stairs at a time up to the study to begin 
an answer. My notions of answering letters are ac- 
cording to the literal sense of the word ; not waiting 
six months and then scrawling a lazy reply, but sitting 
down the moment you have read a letter, and telling, 
as Dr. Woods says, " How the subject strikes you." I 
wish I could be clear that the path of duty lay in talk- 
ing to you this afternoon, but as I find a loud call to 
consider the heels of George's stockings, I must only 
write a word or two, and then resume my darning- 
needle. You don't know how anxiously we all have 
watched for some intelligence from Hartford. Not a 
day has passed when I have not been the efficient agent 
in getting somebody to the post-office, and every day 
my heart has sunk at the sound of " no letters." I felt 
a tremor quite sufficient for a lover when I saw your 
handwriting once more, so you see that in your old age 
you can excite quite as much emotion as did the admir- 
able Miss Byron in her adoring Sir Charles. I hope 
the consideration and digestion of this fact will have 
its due weight in encouraging you to proceed. 

The fact of our having received said letter is as yet 
a state secret, not to be made known till all our family 
circle " in full assembly meet " at the tea-table. Then 
what an illumination ! " How we shall be edified and 
fructified," as that old Methodist said. It seems too 
bad to keep it from mother and Aunt Esther a whole 
afternoon, but then I have the comfort of thinking 
that we are consulting for their greatest happiness " on 
the whole," which is metaphysical benevolence. 


So kind Mrs. Parsons stopped in the very midst 
of her pumpkin pies to think of us ? Seems to me I 
can see her bright, cheerful face now ! And then 
those well known handwritings ! We do love our 
Hartford friends dearly ; there can be, I think, no con- 
troverting that fact. Kate says that the word love is 
used in six senses, and I am sure in some one of them 
they will all come in. Well, good-by for the present. 

Evening. Having finished the last hole on George's 
black vest, I stick in my needle and sit down to be 
sociable. You don't know how coming away from 
New England has sentimentalized us all ! Never was 
there such an abundance of meditation on our native 
land, on the joys of friendship, the pains of separation. 
Catherine had an alarming paroxysm in Philadelphia 
which expended itself in " The Emigrant's Farewell." 
After this was sent off she felt considerably relieved. 
My symptoms have been of a less acute kind, but, I 
fear, more enduring. There ! the tea-bell rings. Too 
bad ! I was just going to say something bright. Now 
to take your letter and run ! How they will stare when 
I produce it ! 

After tea. Well, we have had a fine time. When 
supper was about half over, Catherine began : " We 
have a dessert that we have been saving all the after- 
noon," and then I held up my letter. " See here, this 
is from Hartford ! " I wish you could have seen Aunt 
Esther's eyes brighten, and mother's pale face all in a 
smile, and father, as I unfolded the letter and began. 
Mrs. Parsons's notice of her Thanksgiving predicament 
caused just a laugh, and then one or two sighs (I told 
you we were* growing sentimental !). We did talk 

DR. DRAKE. 63 

some of keeping it (Thanksgiving), but perhaps we 
should all have felt something of the text, " How shall 
we sing the Lord's song in a strange land ? " Your 
praises of Aunt Esther I read twice in an audible voice, 
as the children made some noise the first time. I think 
I detected a visible blush, though she found at that 
time a great deal to do in spreading bread and butter 
for James, and shuffling his plate ; and, indeed, it was 
rather a vehement attack on her humility, since it gave 
her at least " angelic perfection," if not " Adamic " (to 
use Methodist technics). Jamie began his Sunday- 
school career yesterday. The superintendent asked 
him how old he was. " I 'm four years old now, and 
when it snows very hard I shall be five," he answered. 
I have just been trying to make him interpret his 
meaning ; but he says, " Oh, I said so because I could 
not think of anything else to say." By the by, Mary, 
speaking of the temptations of cities, I have much 
solicitude on Jamie's account lest he should form im- 
proper intimacies, for yesterday or day before we saw 
him parading by the house with his arm over the neck 
of a great hog, apparently on the most amicable terms 
possible ; and the other day he actually got upon the 
back of one, and rode some distance. So much for 
allowing these animals to promenade the streets, a par- 
ticular in which Mrs. Cincinnati has imitated the do- 
mestic arrangements of some of her elder sisters, and a 
very disgusting one it is. 

Our family physician is one Dr. Drake, a man of a 
good deal of science, theory, and reputed skill, but a 
sort of general mark for the opposition of all the med- 
ical cloth of the city. He is a tall, rectangular, per- 


pendicular sort of a body, as stiff as a poker, and 
enunciates his prescriptions very much as though he 
were delivering: a discourse on the doctrine of election. 
The other evening he was detained from visiting Kate, 
and he sent a very polite, ceremonious note containing 
a prescription, with Dr. D.'s compliments to Miss 
Beecher, requesting that she would take the inclosed 
in a little molasses at nine o'clock precisely. 

The house we are at present inhabiting is the most 
inconvenient, ill-arranged, good-for-nothing, and alto- 
gether to be execrated affair that ever was put together. 
It was evidently built without a thought of a winter 
season. The kitchen is so disposed that it cannot be 
reached from any part of the house without going out 
into the air. Mother is actually obliged to put on a 
bonnet and cloak every time she goes into it. In the 
house are two parlors with folding doors between them. 
The back parlor has but one window, which opens on 
a veranda and has its lower half painted to keep out 
what little light there is. I need scarcely add that our 
landlord is an old bachelor and of course acted up to 
the light he had, though he left little enough of it for 
his tenants. 

During this early Cincinnati life Harriet suffered 
much from ill-health accompanied by great mental de- 
pression ; but in spite of both she labored diligently 
with her sister Catherine in establishing their school. 
They called it the Western Female Institute, and pro- 
posed to conduct it upon the college plan, with a fac- 
ulty of instructors. As all these things are treated at 
length in letters written by Mrs. Stowe to her friend, 


Miss Georgiana May, we cannot do better than turn 
to them. In May, 1833, she writes : — 

" Bishop Purcell visited our school to-day and ex- 
pressed himself as greatly pleased that we had opened 
such an one here. He spoke of my poor little geogra- 
phy, 1 and thanked me for the unprejudiced manner in 
which I had handled the Catholic question in it. I 
was of course flattered that he should have known any- 
thing of the book. 

"How I wish you could see Walnut Hills. It is 
about two miles from the city, and the road to it is as 
picturesque as you can imagine a road to be without 
' springs that run among the hills.' Every possible 
variety of hill and vale of beautiful slope, and undu- 
lations of land set off by velvet richness of turf and 
broken up by groves and forests of every outline of 
foliage, make the scene Arcadian. You might ride 
over the same road a dozen times a day untired, for 
the constant variation of view caused by ascending 
and descending hills relieves you from all tedium. 
Much of the wooding is beech of a noble growth. The 
straight, beautiful shafts of these trees as one looks up 
the cool green recesses of the woods seems as though 
:hey might form very proper columns for a Dryad tem- 
3le. There ! Catherine is growling at me for sitting 
lp so late ; so ' adieu to music, moonlight, and you.' I 
neant to tell you an abundance of classical things that 
have been thinking to-night, but ( woe 's me.' 

1 This geography was begun by Mrs. Stowe during the summer of 
i 832, while visiting her brother William at Newport, R. I. It was com- 
] leted during the winter of 1833, and published by the firm of Corey, 
1 airbank & Webster, of Cincinnati. 


" Since writing the above my whole time has been 
taken up in the labor of our new school, or wasted in 
the fatigue and lassitude following such labor. To-day 
is Sunday, and I am staying at home because I think 
it is time to take some efficient means to dissipate the 
illness and bad feelings of divers kinds that have for 
some time been growing upon me. At present there 
is and can be very little system or regularity about me. 
About half of my time I am scarcely alive, and a great 
part of the rest the slave and sport of morbid feeling 
and unreasonable prejudice. I have everything but 
good health. 

" I still rejoice that this letter will find you in good 
old Connecticut — thrice blessed — ' oh, had I the 
wings of a dove ' I would be there too. Give my love 
to Mary H. I remember well how gently she used to 
speak to and smile on that forlorn old daddy that 
boarded at your house one summer. It was associating 
with her that first put into my head the idea of saying 
something to people who were not agreeable, and of 
saying something when I had nothing to say, as is gen- 
erally the case on such occasions." 

Again she writes to the same friend : " Your letter, 
my dear G., I have just received, and read through 
three times. Now for my meditations upon it. What 
a woman of the world you are grown. How good it 
would be for me to be put into a place which so breaks 
up and precludes thought. Thought, intense emotional 
thought, has been my disease. How much good it 
might do me to be where I could not but be thought- 
less. . . . 

" Now, Georgiana, let me copy for your delectation 


a list of matters that I have jotted down for considera- 
tion at a teachers' meeting to be held to-morrow night. 
It runneth as follows. Just hear ! ' About quills and 
paper on the floor ; forming classes ; drinking in the 
entry (cold water, mind you) ; giving leave to speak ; 
recess-bell, etc., etc' ' You are tired, I see,' says Gil- 
pin, * so am I,' and I spare you. 

" I have just been hearing a class of little girls re- 
cite, and telling them a fairy story which I had to spin 
out as it went along, beginning with ' once upon a time 
there was,' etc., in the good old-fashioned way of stories. 

" Recently I have been reading the life of Madame 
de Stael and ' Corinne.' I have felt an intense sympathy 
with many parts of that book, with many parts of her 
character. But in America feelings vehement and 
absorbing like hers become still more deep, morbid, 
and impassioned by the constant habits of self-govern- 
ment which the rigid forms of our society demand. 
They are repressed, and they burn inward till they 
burn the very soul, leaving only dust and ashes. It 
seems to me the intensity with which my mind has 
thought and felt on every subject presented to it has 
had this effect. It has withered and exhausted it, and 
though young I have no sympathy with the feelings of 
youth. All that is enthusiastic, all that is impassioned 
in admiration of nature, of writing, of character, in 
devotional thought and emotion, or in the emotions of 
affection, I have felt with vehement and absorbing 
intensity, — felt till my mind is exhausted, and seems 
to be sinking into deadness. Half of my time I am 
glad to remain in a listless vacancy, to busy myself 
with trifles, since thought is pain, and emotion is pain." 


During 1 the winter of 1833-34 the young school- 
teacher became so distressed at her own mental listless- 
ness that she made a vigorous effort to throw it off. 
She forced herself to mingle in society, and, stimulated 
by the offer of a prize of fifty dollars by Mr. James 
Hall, editor of the " Western Monthly," a newly estab- 
lished magazine, for the best short story, she entered 
into the competition. Her story, which was entitled 
" Uncle Lot," afterwards republished in the " May- 
flower," was by far the best submitted, and was 
awarded the prize without hesitation. This success 
gave a new direction to her thoughts, gave her an in- 
sight into her own ability, and so encouraged her that 
from that time on she devoted most of her leisure 
moments to writing. 

Her literary efforts were further stimulated at this 
time by the congenial society of the Semi-Colon Club, 
a little social circle that met on alternate weeks at Mr. 
Samuel Foote's and Dr. Drake's. The name of the 
club originated with a roundabout and rather weak bit 
of logic set forth by one of its promoters. He said : 
" You know that in Spanish Columbus is called ' Colon/ 
Now he who discovers a new pleasure is certainly half 
as great as he who discovers a new continent. There- 
fore if Colon discovered a continent, we who have dis- 
covered in this club a new pleasure should at least be 
entitled to the name of ' Semi-Colons.' ' So Semi- 
Colons they became and remained for some years. 

At some meetings compositions were read, and at 
others nothing was read, but the time was passed in a 
general discussion of some interesting topic previously 
announced. Among the members of the club were 


Professor Stowe, unsurpassed in Biblical learning; 
Judge James Hall, editor of the " Western Monthly ; " 
General Edward King ; Mrs. Peters, afterwards founder 
of the Philadelphia School of Design ; Miss Catherine 
Beecher ; Mrs- Caroline Lee Hentz ; E. P. Cranch ; 
Dr. Drake; S. P. Chase, and many others who after- 
wards became prominent in their several walks of life. 

In one of her letters to Miss May, Mrs. Stowe de- 
scribes one of her methods for entertaining the mem- 
bers of the Semi-Colon as follows : — 

" I am wondering as to what I shall do next. I 
have been writing a piece to be read next Monday 
evening at Uncle Sam's soiree (the Semi-Colon). It is 
a letter purporting to be from Dr. Johnson. I have 
been stilting about in his style so long that it is a relief 
to me to come down to the jog of common English. 
Now I think of it I will just give you a history of my 
campaign in this circle. 

"My first piece was a letter from Bishop Butler, 
written in his outrageous style of parentheses and fog- 
gification. My second a satirical essay on the modern 
uses of languages. This I shall send to you, as some 
of the gentlemen, it seems, took a fancy to it and 
requested leave to put it in the ' Western Magazine/ 
and so it is in print. It is ascribed to Catherine, or I 
don't know that I should have let it go. I have no 
notion of appearing in propria personal. 

" The next piece was a satire on certain members 
who were getting very much into the way of joking 
on the worn-out subjects of matrimony and old maid 
and old bachelorism. I therefore wrote a set of legis- 
lative enactments purporting to be from the ladies of 


the society, forbidding all such allusions in future. It 
made some sport at the time. I try not to be personal, 
and to be courteous, even in satire. 

" But I have written a piece this week that is mak- 
ing me some disquiet. I did not like it that there was 
so little that was serious and rational about the reading. 
So I conceived the design of writing a set of letters, 
and throwing them in, as being the letters of a friend. 
I wrote a letter this week for the first of the set, — 
easy, not very sprightly, — describing an imaginary 
situation, a house in the country, a gentleman and 
lady, Mr. and Mrs. Howard, as being pious, literary, 
and agreeable. I threw into the letter a number of 
little particulars and incidental allusions to give it the 
air of having been really a letter. I meant thus to 
give myself an opportunity for the introduction of dif- 
ferent subjects and the discussion of different charac- 
ters in future letters. 

" I meant to write on a great number of subjects in 
future. Cousin Elisabeth, only, was in the secret; 
Uncle Samuel and Sarah Elliot were not to know. 

" Yesterday morning I finished my letter, smoked it 
to make it look yellow, tore it to make it look old, 
directed it and scratched out the direction, postmarked 
it with red ink, sealed it and broke the seal, all this to 
give credibility to the fact of its being a real letter. 
Then I inclosed it in an envelope, stating that it was 
a part of a set which had incidentally fallen into my 
hands. This envelope was written in a scrawny, 
scrawly, gentleman's hand. 

" I put it into the office in the morning, directed to 
' Mrs. Samuel E. Foote/ and then sent word to Sis that 


it was coming, so that she might be ready to enact the 

" Well, the deception took. Uncle Sam examined it 
and pronounced, ex cathedra, that it must have been 
a real letter. Mr. Greene (the gentleman who reads) 
declared that it must have come from Mrs. Hall, and 
elucidated the theory by spelling out the names and 
dates which I had erased, which, of course, he accom- 
modated to his own tastes. But then, what makes me 
feel uneasy is that Elisabeth, after reading it, did not 
seem to be exactly satisfied. She thought it had too 
much sentiment, too much particularity of incident, — 
she did not exactly know what. She was afraid that it 
would be criticised unmercifully. Now Elisabeth has 
a tact and quickness of perception that I trust to, and 
her remarks have made me uneasy enough. I am 
unused to being criticised, and don't know how I shall 
bear it." 

In 1833 Mrs. Stowe first had the subject of slavery 
brought to her personal notice by taking a trip across 
the river from Cincinnati into Kentucky in company 
with Miss Dutton, one of the associate teachers in the 
Western Institute. They visited an estate that after- 
wards figured as that of Colonel Shelby in " Uncle 
Tom's Cabin," and here the young authoress first came 
into personal contact with the negro slaves of the 
South. In speaking, many years afterwards, of this 
visit, Miss Dutton said : " Harriet did not seem to 
notice anything in particular that happened, but sat 
much of the time as though abstracted in thought. 
When the negroes did funny things and cut up capers, 
she did not seem to pay the slightest attention to them. 


Afterwards, however, in reading ' Uncle Tom/ I rec- 
ognized scene after scene of that visit portrayed with 
the most minute fidelity, and knew at once where the 
material for that portion of the story had been gath- 

At this time, however, Mrs. Stowe was more deeply 
interested in the subject of education than in that of 
slavery, as is shown by the following extract from one 
of her letters to Miss May, who was herself a teacher. 
She says : — 

" We mean to turn over the West by means of 
model schools in this, its capital. ' We mean to have a 
young lady's school of about fifty or sixty, a primary 
school of little girls to the same amount, and then a 
primary school for boys. We have come to the conclu- 
sion that the work of teaching will never be rightly 
done till it passes into female hands. This is espe- 
cially true with regard to boys. To govern boys by 
moral influences requires tact and talent and versatil- 
ity ; it requires also the same division of labor that 
female education does. But men of tact, versatility, 
talent, and piety will not devote their lives to teaching. 
They must be ministers and missionaries, and all that, 
and while there is such a thrilling call for action in this 
way, every man who is merely teaching feels as if he 
were a Hercules with a distaff, ready to spring to the 
first trumpet that calls him away. As for division of 
labor, men must have salaries that can support wife 
and family, and, of course, a revenue would be required 
to support a requisite number of teachers if they could 
be found. 

" Then, if men have more knowledge they have less 


talent at communicating it, nor have they the patience, 
the long-suffering, and gentleness necessary to superin- 
tend the formation of character. We intend to make 
these principles understood, and ourselves to set the 
example of what females can do in this way. You see 
that first-rate talent is necessary for all that we mean 
to do, especially for the last, because here we must face 
down the prejudices of society and we must have ex- 
emplary success to be believed. A^e want original, 
planning minds, and you do not know how few there 
are among females, and how few we can command of 
those that exist." 

During the summer of 1834 the young teacher and 
writer made her first visit East since leaving New Eng- 
land two years before. Its object was mainly to be 
present at the graduation of her favorite brother, Henry 
Ward, from Amherst College. The earlier part of this 
journey was performed by means of stage to Toledo, 
and thence by steamer to Buffalo. A pleasant bit of 
personal description, and also of impressions of Niagara, 
seen for the first time on this journey, are given in a 
letter sent back to Cincinnati during its progress. In 
it she says of her fellow-travelers : — 

" Then there was a portly, rosy, clever Mr. Smith, or 
Jones, or something the like ; and a New Orleans girl 
looking like distraction, as far as dress is concerned, but 
with the prettiest language and softest intonations in 
the world, and one of those faces which, while you say 
it is n't handsome, keeps you looking all the time to see 
what it can be that is so pretty about it. Then there 
was Miss B., an independent, good-natured, do-as-I- 
please sort of a body, who seemed of perpetual motion 


from morning till night. Poor Miss D. said, when we 
stopped at night, ' Oh, dear ! I suppose Lydia will be 
riddling about our room till morning, and we shall not 
one of us sleep.' Then, by way of contrast, there was 
a Mr. Mitchell, the most gentlemanly, obliging man 
that ever changed his seat forty times a day to please 
a lady. Oh, yes, he could ride outside, — or, oh, cer- 
tainly, he could ride inside, — he had no objection to 
this, or that, or the other. Indeed, it was difficult to 
say what could come amiss to him. He speaks in a 
soft, quiet manner, with something of a drawl, using 
very correct, well-chosen language, and pronouncing all 
his words with carefulness ; has everything in his dress 
and traveling appointments comme ilfaut; and seems 
to think there is abundant time for everything that 
is to be done in this world, without, as he says, ' any 
unnecessary excitement.' Before the party had fully 
discovered his name he was usually designated as ' the 
obliging gentleman,' or ' that gentleman who is so ac- 
commodating.' Yet our friend, withal, is of Irish ex- 
traction, and I have seen him roused to talk with both 
hands and a dozen words in a breath. He fell into a 
little talk about abolition and slavery with our good 
Mr. Jones, a man whose mode of reasoning consists in 
repeating the same sentence at regular intervals as long 
as you choose to answer it. This man, who was finally 
convinced that negroes were black, used it as an irre- 
fragible argument to all that could be said, and at last 
began to deduce from it that they might just as well be 
slaves as anything else, and so he proceeded till all the 
philanthropy of our friend was roused, and he sprung 
up all lively and oratorical and gesticulatory and indig- 


nant to my heart's content. I like to see a quiet man 
that can be roused." 

In the same letter she gives her impressions of 
Niagara, as follows : — 

" I have seen it (Niagara) and yet live. Oh, where 
is your soul ? Never mind, though. Let me tell, if I 
can, what is unutterable. Elisabeth, it is not like any- 
thing ; it did not look like anything I expected ; it did 
not look like a waterfall. I did not once think whether 
it was high or low ; whether it roared or did n't roar ; 
whether it equaled my expectations or not. My mind 
whirled off, it seemed to me, in a new, strange world. 
It seemed unearthly, like the strange, dim images in 
the Revelation. I thought of the great white throne ; 
the rainbow around it ; the throne in sight like unto an 
emerald ; and oh ! that beautiful water rising like moon- 
light, falling as the soul sinks when it dies, to rise re- 
fined, spiritualized, and pure. That rainbow, breaking 
out, trembling, fading, and again coming like a beauti- 
ful spirit walking the waters. Oh, it is lovelier than it 
is great ; it is like the Mind that made it : great, but so 
veiled in beauty that we gaze without terror. I felt as 
if I could have gone over with the waters ; it would 
be so beautiful a death ; there would be no fear in it. 
I felt the rock tremble under me with a sort of joy. 
I was so maddened that I could have gone too, if it had 

While at the East she was greatly affected by hearing 
of the death of her dear friend, Eliza Tyler, the wife 
of Professor Stowe. This lady was the daughter of 
Dr. Bennett Tyler, president of the Theological Insti- 
tute of Connecticut, at East Windsor ; but twenty-five 


years of age at the time of her death, a very beautiful 
woman gifted with a wonderful voice. She was also 
possessed of a well-stored mind and a personal mag- 
netism that made her one of the most popular members 
of the Semi-Colon Club, in the proceedings of which 
she took an active interest. 

Her death left Professor Stowe a childless widower, 
and his forlorn condition greatly excited the sympathy 
of her who had been his wife's most intimate friend. 
It was easy for sympathy to ripen into love, and after a 
short engagement Harriet E. Beecher became the wife 
of Professor Calvin E. Stowe. 

Her last act before the wedding was to write the fol- 
lowing note to the friend of her girlhood, Miss Georgi- 
ana May : — 

January 6, 1836. 

Well, my dear G., about half an hour more and your 
old friend, companion, schoolmate, sister, etc., will cease 
to be Hatty Beecher and change to nobody knows who. 
My dear, you are engaged, and pledged in a year or two 
to encounter a similar fate, and do you wish to know 
how you shall feel ? Well, my dear, I have been dread- 
ing and dreading the time, and lying awake all last 
week wondering how I should live through this over- 
whelming crisis, and lo ! it has come and I feel nothing 
at all. 

The wedding is to be altogether domestic ; nobody 
present but my own brothers and sisters, and my old 
colleague, Mary Dutton ; and as there is a sufficiency 
of the ministry in our family we have not even to call 
in the foreign aid of a minister. Sister Katy is not 
here, so she will not witness my departure from her care 


and guidance to that of another. None of my numer- 
ous friends and acquaintances who have taken such a 
deep interest in making the connection for me even 
know the day, and it will be all done and over before 
they know anything about it. 

Well, it is really a mercy to have this entire stupidity 
come over one at such a time. I should be crazy to feel 
as I did yesterday, or indeed to feel anything at all. 
But I inwardly vowed that my last feelings and reflec- 
tions on this subject should be yours, and as I have not 
got any, it is just as well to tell you that. Well, here 
comes. Mr. S., so farewell, and for the last time I sub- 
scribe Your own 

H. E. B. 



Professor Stowe's Interest in Popular Education. — His De- 
parture for Europe. — Slavery Riots in Cincinnati. — Birth 
of Twin Daughters. — Professor Stowe's Return and Visit 
to Columbus. — Domestic Trials. — Aiding a Fugitive Slave. 
— Authorship under Difficulties. — A Beecher Round Robin. 

The letter to her friend Georgiana May, begun half 
an hour before her wedding, was not completed until 
nearly two months after that event. Taking it from 
her portfolio, she adds : — 

" Three weeks have passed since writing the above, 
and my husband and self are now quietly seated by our 
own fireside, as domestic as any pair of tame fowl you 
ever saw ; he writing to his mother, and I to you. Two 
days after our marriage we took a wedding excursion, 
so called, though we would most gladly have been ex- 
cused this conformity to ordinary custom had not neces- 
sity required Mr. Stowe to visit Columbus, and I had 
too much adhesiveness not to go too. Ohio roads at 
this season are no joke, I can tell you, though we were, 
on the whole, wonderfully taken care of, and our expe- 
dition Included as many pleasures as an expedition at 
this time of the year ever could. 

" And now, my dear, perhaps the wonder to you, as 
to me, is how this momentous crisis in the life of such 
a wisp of nerve as myself has been transacted so qui- 


etly. My dear, it is a wonder to myself. I am tran- 
quil, quiet, and happy. I look only on the present, 
and leave the future with Him who has hitherto been 
so kind to me. ' Take no thought for the morrow ' is 
my motto, and my comfort is to rest on Him in whose 
house there are many mansions provided when these 
fleeting earthly ones pass away. 

" Dear Georgy, naughty girl that I am, it is a month 
that I have let the above lie by, because I got into a 
strain of emotion in it that I dreaded to return to. 
Well, so it shall be no longer. In about five weeks 
Mr. Stowe and myself start for New England. He 
sails the first of May. I am going with him to Boston, 
New York, and other places, and shall stop finally at 
Hartford, whence, as soon as he is gone, it is my inten- 
tion to return westward." 

This reference to her husband as about to leave her 
relates to his sailing for Europe to purchase books for 
Lane Seminary, and also as a commissioner appointed 
by the State of Ohio to investigate the public school 
systems of the old world. He had long been convinced 
that higher education was impossible in the West with- 
out a higher grade of public schools, and had in 1833 
been one of the founders in Cincinnati of " The Col- 
lege of Teachers," an institution that existed for ten 
years, and exerted a widespread influence. Its objects 
were to popularize the common schools, raise the stand- 
ard of teachers, and create a demand for education 
among the people. Professor Stowe was associated in 
this movement with many of the leading intellects of 
Ohio at that time, and among them were Albert Pickett, 
Dr. Drake, Smith Grimke, Archbishop Purcell, Presi- 


dent A. H. McGuffey, Dr. Beecher, Lydia Sigourney, 
Caroline Lee Hentz, and others. Their influence finally 
extended to the state legislature, and it was concluded 
to authorize Professor Stowe, when abroad, to investi- 
gate and report upon the common school systems of 
Europe, especially Prussia. 

He sailed from New York for London in the ship 
Montreal, Captain Champlin, on June 8, 1836, and 
carried with him, to be opened only after he was at 
sea, a letter from his wife, from which the following 
extract is made : — 

" Now, my dear, that you are gone where you are 
out of the reach of my care, advice, and good manage- 
ment, it is fitting that you should have something 
under my hand and seal for your comfort and further- 
ance in the new world you are going to. Firstly, I 
must caution you to set your face as a flint against the 
' cultivation of indigo,' as Elisabeth calls it, in any way 
or shape. Keep yourself from it most scrupulously, 
and though you are unprovided with that precious and 
savory treatise entitled i Kemper's Consolations,' * yet 
you can exercise yourself to recall and set in order such 
parts thereof as would more particularly suit your case, 
particularly those portions wherewith you so much con- 
soled Kate, Aunt Esther, and your unworthy hand- 
maid, while you yet tarried at Walnut Hills. But seri- 
ously, dear one, you must give more way to hope than 
to memory. You are going to a new scene now, and 
one that I hope will be full of enjoyment to you. I 
want you to take the good of it. 

" Only think of all you expect to see : the great 

1 A ridiculous book from which Mr. Stowe derived endless amusement. 


libraries and beautiful paintings, fine churches, and, 
above all, think of seeing Tholuck, your great Apollo. 
My dear, I wish I were a man in your place ; if I 
would n't have a grand time ! " 

During her husband's absence abroad Mrs. Stowe 
lived quietly in Cincinnati with her father and broth- 
ers. She wrote occasionally short stories, articles, and 
essays for publication in the " Western Monthly Maga- 
zine " or the " New York Evangelist," and maintained 
a constant correspondence with her husband by means 
of a daily journal, which was forwarded to him once a 
month. She also assisted her brother, Henry Ward, 
who had accepted a temporary position as editor of the 
" Journal," a small daily paper published in the city. 

At this time the question of slavery was an exciting 
one in Cincinnati, and Lane Seminary had become a 
hotbed of abolition. The anti-slavery movement among 
the students was headed by Theodore D. Weld, ono of 
their number, who had procured funds to complete his 
education by lecturing through the South. While 
thus engaged he had been so impressed with the evils 
and horrors of slavery that he had become a radical 
abolitionist, and had succeeded in converting several 
Southerners to his views of the subject. Among them 
was Mr. J. G. Birney of Huntsville, Alabama, who not 
only liberated his slaves, but in connection with Dr. 
Gamaliel Bailey of Cincinnati founded in that city an 
anti-slavery paper called " The Philanthropist." This 
paper was finally suppressed, and its office wrecked by 
a mob instigated by Kentucky slaveholders, and it is of 
this event that Mrs. Stowe writes to her husband as 
follows : — 


" Yesterday evening I spent scribbling for Henry's 
newspaper (the ' Journal ') in this wise: i Birney's print- 
ing-press has been mobbed, and many of the respect- 
able citizens are disposed to wink at the outrage in con- 
sideration of its moving in the line of their prejudices.' 

" I wrote a conversational sketch, in which I rather 
satirized this inconsistent spirit, and brought out the 
effects of patronizing any violation of private rights. 
It was in a light, sketchy style, designed to draw atten- 
tion to a long editorial of Henry's in which he consid- 
ers the subject fully and seriously. His piece is, I 
think, a powerful one ; indeed, he does write very 
strongly. I am quite proud of his editorials ; they are 
well studied, earnest, and dignified. I think he will 
make a first-rate writer. Both our pieces have gone to 
press to-day, with Charles's article on music, and we 
have had not a little diversion about our family news- 

" I thought, when I was writing last night, that I 
was, like a good wife, defending one of your principles 
in your absence, and wanted you to see how manfully I 
talked about it. Henry has also taken up and exam- 
ined the question of the Seminole Indians, and done it 
very nobly." 

Again : — 

" The excitement about Birney continues to increase. 
The keeper of the Franklin Hotel was assailed by a 
document subscribed to by many of his boarders de- 
manding that Birney should be turned out of doors. 
He chose to negative the demand, and twelve of his 
boarders immediately left, Dr. F. among the number. 
A meeting has been convoked by means of a handbill, 


in which some of the most respectable men of the city 
are invited by name to come together and consider the 
question whether they will allow Mr. Birney to con- 
tinue his paper in the city. Mr. Greene says that, to 
his utter surprise, many of the most respectable and 
influential citizens gave out that they should go. 

"He was one of the number they invited, but he 
told those who came to him that he would have noth- 
ing to do with disorderly public meetings or mobs in 
any shape, and that he was entirely opposed to the 
whole thing. 

"I presume they will have a hot meeting, if they 
have any at all. 

" I wish father were at home to preach a sermon to 
his church, for many of its members do not frown on 
these things as they ought." 

" Later : The meeting was held, and was headed by 
Morgan, Neville, Judge Burke, and I know not who 
else. Judge Burnet was present and consented to 
their acts. The mob madness is certainly upon this 
city when men of sense and standing will pass resolu- 
tions approving in so many words of things done con- 
trary to law, as one of the resolutions of this meeting 
did. It quoted the demolition of the tea in Boston 
harbor as being authority and precedent. 

" A large body, perhaps the majority of citizens, dis- 
approve, but I fear there will not be public disavowal. 
Even N. Wright but faintly opposes, and Dr. Fore has 
been exceedingly violent. Mr. Hammond (editor of 
the ' Gazette ') in a very dignified and judicious man- 
ner has condemned the whole thing, and Henry has 
opposed, but otherwise the papers have either been 


silent or in favor of mobs. We shall see what the 
result will be in a few days. 

" For my part, I can easily see how such proceedings 
may make converts to abolitionism, for already my 
sympathies are strongly enlisted for Mr. Birney, and I 
hope that he will stand his ground and assert his rights. 
The office is fire-proof, and inclosed by high walls. I 
wish he would man it with armed men and see what can 
be done. If I were a man I would go, for one, and 
take good care of at least one window. Henry sits 
opposite me writing a most valiant editorial, and tells 
me to tell you he is waxing mighty in battle." 

In another letter she writes : — 

" I told you in my last that the mob broke into Bir- 
ney's press, where, however, the mischief done was but 
slight. The object appeared to be principally to ter- 
rify. Immediately there followed a general excitement 
in which even good men in their panic and prejudice 
about abolitionism forgot that mobs were worse evils 
than these, talked against Birney, and winked at the 
outrage; N. Wright and Judge Burnet, for example. 
Meanwhile the turbulent spirits went beyond this and 
talked of revolution and of righting things without law 
that could not be righted by it. At the head of these 
were Morgan, Neville, Longworth, Joseph Graham, 
and Judge Burke. A meeting was convoked at Lower 
Market Street to decide whether they would permit the 
publishing of an abolition paper, and to this meeting 
all the most respectable citizens were by name sum- 

" There were four classes in the city then : Those 
who meant to go as revolutionists and support the 


mob ; those who meant to put down Birney, but rather 
hoped to do it without a mob ; those who felt ashamed 
to go, foreseeing the probable consequence, and yet did 
not decidedly frown upon it; and those who sternly 
and decidedly reprehended it. 

" The first class was headed by Neville, Longworth, 
Graham, etc. ; the second class, though of some num- 
bers, was less conspicuous ; of the third, Judge Burnet, 
Dr. Fore, and N. Wright were specimens ; and in the 
last such men as Hammond, Mansfield, S. P. Chase, 1 
and Chester were prominent. The meeting in so many 
words voted a mob, nevertheless a committee was ap- 
pointed to wait on Mr. Birney and ascertain what he 
proposed to do ; and, strange to tell, men as sensible as 
Uncle John and Judge Burnet were so short-sighted as 
to act on that committee. 

" All the newspapers in the city, except Hammond's 
(' Gazette ') and Henry's (the ' Journal '), were either 
silent or openly ' mobocratic' As might have been 
expected, Birney refused to leave, and that night the 
mob tore down his press, scattered the types, dragged 
the whole to the river, threw it in, and then came back 
to demolish the office. 

" They then went to the houses of Dr. Bailey, Mr. 
Donaldson, and Mr. Birney ; but the persons they 
sought were not at home, having been aware of what 
was intended. The mayor was a silent spectator of 
these proceedings, and was heard to say, ' Well, lads, 
you have done well, so far ; go home now before you 
cfchgrace yourselves ; ' but the ' lads ' spent the rest of 
the night and a greater part of the next day (Sunday) 

1 Salmon P. Chase. 


in pulling down the houses of inoffensive and respecta- 
ble blacks. The ' Gazette ' office was threatened, the 
* Journal ' office was to go next ; Lane Seminary and 
the water-works also were mentioned as probable points 
to be attacked by the mob. 

"By Tuesday morning the city was pretty well 
alarmed. A regular corps of volunteers was organ- 
ized, who for three nights patrolled the streets with 
firearms and with legal warrant from the mayor, who 
by this time was glad to give it, to put down the mob 
even by bloodshed. 

" For a day or two we did not know but there would 
actually be war to the knife, as was threatened by the 
mob, and we really saw Henry depart with his pistols 
with daily alarm, only we were all too full of patriotism 
not to have sent every brother we had rather than not 
have had the principles of freedom and order defended. 

" But here the tide turned. The mob, unsupported 
by a now frightened community, slunk into their dens 
and were still ; and then Hammond, who, during the 
few days of its prevalence, had made no comments, 
but published simply the Sermon on the Mount, the 
Constitution of Ohio, and the Declaration of Independ- 
ence, without any comment, now came out and gave a 
simple, concise history of the mob, tracing it to the 
market-house meeting, telling the whole history of the 
meeting, with the names of those who got it up, throw- 
ing on them and on those who had acted on the com- 
mittee the whole responsibility of the following mob. 
It makes a terrible sensation, but it ' cuts its way,' and 
all who took other stand than that of steady opposition 
from the first are beginning to feel the reaction of pub- 


lie sentiment, while newspapers from abroad are pour- 
ing in their reprehensions of the disgraceful conduct 
of Cincinnati. Another time, I suspect, such men as 
Judge Burnet, Mr. Greene, and Uncle John will keep 
their fingers out of such a trap, and people will all 
learn better than to wink at a mob that happens to 
please them at the outset, or in any way to give it their 
countenance. Mr. Greene and Uncle John were full 
of wrath against mobs, and would not go to the meet- 
ing, and yet were cajoled into acting on that committee 
in the vain hope of getting Birney to go away and thus 
preventing the outrage. 

" They are justly punished, I think, for what was 
very irresolute and foolish conduct, to say the least." 

The general tone of her letters at this time would 
seem to show that, while Mrs. Stowe was anti-slavery 
in her sympathies, she was not a declared abolitionist. 
This is still further borne out in a letter written in 
1837 from Putnam, Ohio, whither she had gone for a 
short visit to her brother William. In it she says : — 

" The good people here, you know, are about half 
abolitionists. A lady who takes a leading part in 
the female society in this place yesterday called and 
brought Catherine the proceedings of the Female Anti- 
Slavery Convention. 

" I should think them about as ultra as to measures 
as anything that has been attempted, though I am 
glad to see a better spirit than marks such proceedings 

" To-day I read some in Mr. Birney's i Philanthro- 
pist.' Abolitionism being the fashion here, it is nat- 
ural to look at its papers. 


" It does seem to me that there needs to be an in- 
termediate society. If not, as light increases, all the 
excesses of the abolition party will not prevent humane 
and conscientious men from joining it. 

" Pray what is there in Cincinnati to satisfy one 
whose mind is awakened on this subject ? No one can 
have the system of slavery brought before him without 
an irrepressible desire to do something, and what is 
there to be done ? " 

On September 29, 1836, while Professor Stowe was 
still absent in Europe, his wife gave birth to twin 
daughters, Eliza and Isabella, as she named them ; but 
Eliza Tyler and Harriet Beecher, as her husband in- 
sisted they should be called, when, upon reaching New 
York, he was greeted by the joyful news. His trip 
from London in the ship Gladiator had been unusually 
long, even for those days of sailing vessels, and ex- 
tended from November 19, 1836, to January 20, 1837. 

During: the summer of 1837 Mrs. Stowe suffered 
much from ill health, on which account, and to relieve 
her from domestic cares, she was sent to make a 
long visit at Putnam with her brother, Rev. William 
Beecher. While here she received a letter from her 
husband, in which he says : — 

" We all of course feel proper indignation at the 
doings of last General Assembly, and shall treat them 
with merited contempt. This alliance between the old 
school (Presbyterians) and slaveholders will make more 
abolitionists than anything that has been done yet." 

In December Professor Stowe went to Columbus 
with the extended educational report that he had de- 
voted the summer to preparing ; and in writing from 
there to his wife he says : — 


u To-day I have been visiting the governor and leg- 
islators. They received me with the utmost kindness, 
and are evidently anticipating much from my report. 
The governor communicated it to the legislature to- 
day, and it is concluded that I read it in Dr. Hodges' 
church on two evenings, to-morrow and the day after, 
before both houses of the legislature and the citizens. 
The governor (Vance) will preside at both meetings. 
I like him (the governor) much. He is just such a 
plain, simple-hearted, sturdy body as old Fritz (Kai- 
ser Frederick), with more of natural talent than his 
predecessor in the gubernatorial chair. For my year's 
work in this matter I am to receive $500." 

On January 14, 1838, Mrs. Stowe's third child, 
Henry Ellis, was born. 

It was about this time that the famous reunion of 
the Beecher family described in Lyman Beecher's 
" Autobiography " occurred. Edward made a visit to 
the East, and when he returned he brought Mary 
(Mrs. Thomas Perkins) from Hartford with him. 
William came down from Putnam, Ohio, and George 
from Batavia, New York, while Catherine, Harriet, 
Henry, Charles, Isabella, Thomas, and James were al- 
ready at home. It was the first time they had ever 
all met together. Mary had never seen James, and 
had seen Thomas but once. The old doctor was al- 
most transported with joy as they all gathered about 
him, and his cup of happiness was filled to overflowing 
when, the next day, which was Sunday, his pulpit was 
filled by Edward in the morning, William in the after- 
noon, and George in the evening. 

Side by side with this charming picture we have 


another of domestic life outlined by Mrs. Stowe's own 
hand. It is contained in the following letter, written 
June 21, 1838, to Miss May, at New Haven, Conn. : — 

My dear, dear Georgiana, — Only think how 
long it is since I have written to you, and how changed 
I am since then — the mother of three children ! 
Well, if I have not kept the reckoning of old times, let 
this last circumstance prove my apology, for I have 
been hand, heart, and head full since I saw you. 

" Now, to-day, for example, I '11 tell you what I had 
on my mind from dawn to dewy eve. In the first 
place I waked about half after four and thought, 
" Bless me, how light it is ! I must get out of bed and 
rap to wake up Mina, for breakfast must be had at 
six o'clock this morning." So out of bed I jump and 
seize the tongs and pound, pound, pound over poor 
Mina's sleepy head, charitably allowing her about half 
an hour to get waked up in, — that being the quantum 
of time that it takes me, — or used to. Well, then 
baby wakes — qua, qua, qua, so I give him his break- 
fast, dozing meanwhile and soliloquizing as follows: 
" Now I must not forget to tell Mr. Stowe about the 
starch and dried apples " — doze — " ah, um, dear me ! 
why does n't Mina get up ? I don't hear her," — doze 
— " a, um, — I wonder if Mina has soap enough ! I 
think there were two bars left on Saturday " — doze 
again — I wake again. " Dear me, broad daylight ! I 
must get up and go down and see if Mina is getting 
breakfast." Up I jump and up wakes baby. " Now, 
little boy, be good and let mother dress, because she is 
in a hurry." I get my frock half on and baby by that 


time has kicked himself down off his pillow, and is cry- 
ing and fisting the bed-clothes in great order. I stop with 
one sleeve off and one on to settle matters with him. 
Having planted him bolt upright and gone all up and 
down the chamber barefoot to get pillows and blankets, 
to prop him up, I finish putting my frock on and hurry 
down to satisfy myself by actual observation that the 
breakfast is in progress. Then back I come into the 
nursery, where, remembering that it is washing day 
and that there is a great deal of work to be done, I 
apply myself vigorously to sweeping, dusting, and the 
setting to rights so necessary where there are three lit- 
tle mischiefs always pulling down as fast as one can 
put up. 

Then there are Miss H and Miss E , con- 
cerning whom Mary will furnish you with all suitable 
particulars, who are chattering, hallooing, or singing at 
the tops of their voices, as may suit their various states 
of mind, while the nurse is getting their breakfast ready. 
This meal being cleared away, Mr. Stowe dispatched to 
market with various memoranda of provisions, etc., and 
the baby being washed and dressed, I begin to think 
what next must be done. I start to cut out some little 
dresses, have just calculated the length and got one 
breadth torn off when Master Henry makes a doleful 
lip and falls to crying with might and main. I catch 
him up and turning round see one of his sisters flour- 
ishing the things out of my workbox in fine style. 
Moving it away and looking the other side I see the 
second little mischief seated by the hearth chewing 
coals and scraping up ashes with great apparent relish. 
Grandmother lays hold upon her and charitably offers 


to endeavor to quiet baby while I go on with my work. 
I set at it again, pick up a dozen pieces, measure them 
once more to see which is the right one, and proceed 
to cut out some others, when I see the twins on the 
point of quarreling with each other. Number one 
pushes number two over. Number two screams : that 
frightens the baby and he joins in. I call number one 
a naughty girl, take the persecuted one in my arms, 
and endeavor to comfort her by trotting to the old 
lyric : — 

" So ride the gentlefolk, 
And so do we, so do we." 

Meanwhile number one makes her way to the slop jar 
and forthwith proceeds to wash her apron in it. Grand- 
mother catches her by one shoulder, drags her away, 
and sets the jar up out of her reach. By and by the 
nurse comes up from her sweeping. I commit the chil- 
dren to her, and finish cutting out the frocks. 

But let this suffice, for of such details as these are 
all my days made up. Indeed, my dear, I am but a 
mere drudge with few ideas beyond babies and house- 
keeping. As for thoughts, reflections, and sentiments, 
good lack ! good lack ! 

I suppose I am a dolefully uninteresting person at 
present, but I hope I shall grow young again one of 
these days, for it seems to me that matters cannot al- 
ways stand exactly as they do now. 

Well, Georgy, this marriage is — yes, I will speak 
well of it, after all ; for when I can stop and think long 
enough to discriminate my head from my heels, I must 
say that I think myself a fortunate woman both in hus- 
band and children. My children I would not change 


for all the ease, leisure, and pleasure that I could have 
without them. They are money on interest whose 
value will be constantly increasing. 

In 1839 Mrs. Stowe received into her family as a 
servant a colored girl from Kentucky. By the laws of 
Ohio she was free, having been brought into the State 
and left there by her mistress. In spite of this, Pro- 
fessor Stowe received word, after she had lived with 
them some months, that the girl's master was in the city 
looking for her, and that if she were not careful she 
would be seized and conveyed back into slavery. Find- 
ing that this could be accomplished by boldness, per- 
jury, and the connivance of some unscrupulous justice, 
Professor Stowe determined to remove the girl to some 
place of security where she might remain until the 
search for her should be given up. Accordingly he 
and his brother-in-law, Henry Ward Beecher, both 
armed, drove the fugitive, in a covered wagon, at night, 
by unfrequented roads, twelve miles back into the coun- 
try, and left her in safety with the family of old John 
Van Zandt, the fugitive's friend. 

It is from this incident of real life and personal ex- 
perience that Mrs. Stowe conceived the thrilling episode 
of the fugitives' escape from Tom Loker and Marks in 
" Uncle Tom's Cabin." 

An amusing and at the same time most interesting 
account of her struggles to accomplish literary work 
amid her distracting domestic duties at this time is 
furnished by the letter of one of her intimate friends, 
who writes : — 

" It was my good fortune to number Mrs. Stowe 


among my friends, and during a visit to her I had an 
opportunity one day of witnessing the combined exer- 
cise of her literary and domestic genius in a style that 
to me was quite amusing. 

" i Come Harriet/ said I, as I found her tending one 
baby and watching twQ others just able to walk, ' where 
is that piece for the " Souvenir " which I promised the 
editor I would get from you and send on next week ? 
You have only this one day left to finish it, and have 
it I must.' 

" ' And how will you get it, friend of mine ? ' said 
Harriet. * You will at least have to wait till I get 
house-cleaning over and baby's teeth through.' 

" ' As to house-cleaning, you can defer it one day 
longer ; and as to baby's teeth, there is to be no end to 
them, as I can see. No, no ; to-day that story must be 
ended. There Frederick has been sitting by Ellen and 
saying all those pretty things for more than a month 
now, and she has been turning and blushing till I am 
sure it is time to go to her relief. Come, it would not 
take you three hours at the rate you can write to finish 
the courtship, marriage, catastrophe, e'claircissement, 
and all ; and this three hours' labor of your brains will 
earn enough to pay for all the sewing your fingers 
could do for a year to come. Two dollars a page, my 
dear, and you can write a page in fifteen minutes ! 
Come, then, my lady housekeeper, economy is a cardi- 
nal virtue ; consider the economy of the thing.' 

" ' But, my dear, here is a baby in my arms and two 
little pussies by my side, and there is a great baking 
down in the kitchen, and there is a " new girl " for 
" help," besides preparations to be made for house- 


cleaning next week. It is really out of the question, 
you see.' 

" ' I see no such thing. I do not know what genius 
is given for, if it is not to help a woman out of a scrape. 
Come, set your wits to work, let me have my way, and 
you shall have all the work done and finish the story 

" < Well, but kitchen affairs? ' 

" ' We can manage them too. You know you can 
write anywhere and anyhow. Just take your seat at 
the kitchen table with your writing weapons, and while 
you superintend Mina fill up the odd snatches of time 
with the labors of your pen.' 

" I carried my point. In ten minutes she was seated ; 
a table with flour, rolling-pin, ginger, and lard on one 
side, a dresser with eggs, pork, and beans and various 
cooking utensils on the other, near her an oven heat- 
ing, and beside her a dark-skinned nymph, waiting 

" * Here, Harriet,' said I, ' you can write on this atlas 
in your lap ; no matter how the writing looks, I will 
copy it.' 

" ' Well, well,' said she, with a resigned sort of 
amused look. ' Mina, you may do what I told you, 
while I write a few minutes, till it is time to mould up 
the bread. Where is the inkstand ? ' 

" ' Here it is, close by, on the top of the tea-kettle,' 
said I. 

" At this Mina giggled, and we both laughed to see 
her merriment at our literary proceedings. 

" I began to overhaul the portfolio to find the right 


" ' Here it is/ said I. ' Here is Frederick sitting by 
Ellen, glancing at her brilliant face, and saying some- 
thing about " guardian angel," and all that — you re- 
member ? ' 

" i Yes, yes,' said she, falling into a muse, as she at- 
tempted to recover the thread of her story. 

" ' Ma'am, shall I put the pork on the top of the 
beans ? ' asked Mina. 

" ' Come, come,' said Harriet, laughing. * You see 
how it is. Mina is a new hand and cannot do anything 
without me to direct her. We must give up the writ- 
ing for to-day.' 

" ' No, no ; let us have another trial. You can dictate 
as easily as you can write. Come, I can set the baby 
in this clothes-basket and give him some mischief or 
other to keep him quiet ; you shall dictate and I will 
write. Now, this is the place where you left off : you 
were describing the scene between Ellen and her lover ; 
the last sentence was, " Borne down by the tide of 
agony, she leaned her head on her hands, the tears 
streamed through her fingers, and her whole frame 
shook with convulsive sobs." What shall I write 
next ? ' 

" ' Mina, pour a little milk into this pearlash,' said 

" ' Come,' said I. ' " The tears streamed through 
her fingers and her whole frame shook with convulsive 
sobs." What next?' 

" Harriet paused and looked musingly out of the 
window, as she turned her mind to her story. ' You 
may write now,' said she, and she dictated as follows : 

" ' " Her lover wept with her, nor dared he again to 


touch the point so sacredly guarded " — Mina, roll that 
crust a little thinner. " He spoke in soothing tones " 
— Mina, poke the coals in the oven.' 

" ' Here/ said I, i let me direct Mina about these 
matters, and write a while yourself.' 

" Harriet took the pen and patiently set herself to 
the work. For a while my culinary knowledge and 
skill were proof to all Mina's investigating inquiries, 
and they did not fail till I saw two pages completed. 

" ' You have done bravely,' said I, as I read over the 
manuscript ; i now you must direct Mina a while. Mean- 
while dictate and I will write.' 

" Never was there a more docile literary lady than 
my friend. Without a word of objection she followed 
my request. 

" i I am ready to write,' said I. ' The last sentence 
was : " What is this lif e to one who has suffered as I 
have ? " What next ? ' 

" ' Shall I put in the brown or the white bread first ? ' 
said Mina. 

" ' The brown first,' said Harriet. 

" ' " What is this life to one who has suffered as I 
have?'" said I. 

" Harriet brushed the flour off her apron and sat 
down for a moment in a muse. Then she dictated as 
follows : — 

" ' " Under the breaking of my heart I have borne 
up. I have borne up under all that tries a woman, — 
but this thought, — oh, Henry ! " ' 

" ' Ma'am, shall I put ginger into this pumpkin ? ' 
queried Mina. 

" ' No, you may let that alone just now,' replied Har- 
riet. She then proceeded : — 


" < " I know my duty to my children. I see the hour 
must come. You must take them, Henry ; they are my 
last earthly comfort." ' 

" ' Ma'am, what shall I do with these egg-shells and 
all this truck here ? ' interrupted Mina. 

" ' Put them in the pail by you,' answered Harriet. 

u i a They are my last earthly comfort," ' said I. 
< What next?' 

" She continued to dictate, — 

u i a You must take them away. It may be — per- 
haps it must be — that I shall soon follow, but the 
breaking heart of a wife still pleads, * a little longer, a 
little longer.' " ' 

" l How much longer must the gingerbread stay in ? ' 
inquired Mina. 

" ' Five minutes,' said Harriet. 

" ' " A little longer, a little longer," ' I repeated in 
a dolorous tone, and we burst into a laugh. 

" Thus we went on, cooking, writing, nursing, and 
laughing, till I finally accomplished my object. The 
piece was finished, copied, and the next day sent to the 

The widely scattered members of the Beecher family 
had a fashion of communicating with each other by 
means of circular letters. These, begun on great sheets 
of paper, at either end of the line, were passed along 
from one to another, each one adding his or her budget 
of news to the general stock. When the filled sheet 
reached the last person for whom it was intended, it was 
finally remailed to its point of departure. Except in 
the cases of Mrs. Stowe and Mrs. Perkins, the simple 
address " Rev. Mr. Beecher " was sufficient to insure its 
safe delivery in any town to which it was sent. 


One of these great, closely-written sheets, bearing in 
faded ink the names of all the Beechers, lies outspread 
before us as we write. It is postmarked Hartford, 
Conn., Batavia, N. Y., Chillicothe, Ohio, Zanesville, 
Ohio, Walnut Hills, Ohio, Indianapolis, Ind., Jackson- 
ville, 111., and New Orleans, La. In it Mrs. Stowe occu- 
pies her allotted space with — 

Walnut Hills, April 27, 1839. 
Dear Friends, — I am going to Hartford myself, 
and therefore shall not write, but hurry along the 
preparations for my forward journey. Belle, father 
says you may go to the White Mountains with Mr. 
Stowe and me this summer. George, we may look in 
on you coming back. Good-by. 

Affectionately to all, H. E. Stowe. 



Famine in Cincinnati. — Summer at the East. — Plans for Lit- 
erary Work. — Experience on a Railroad. — Death of her 
Brother George. — Sickness and Despair. — A Journey in 
Search of Health. — Goes to Brattleboro' Watercure. — 
Troubles at Lane Seminary. — Cholera in Cincinnati. — 
Death of Youngest Child. — Determined to leave the West. 

On January 7, 1839, Professor Stowe wrote to his 
mother in Natick, Mass. : " You left here, I believe, 
in the right time, for as there has been no navigation 
on the Ohio River for a year, we are almost in a state 
of famine as to many of the necessities of life. For 
example, salt (coarse) has sold in Cincinnati this winter 
for three dollars a bushel ; rice eighteen cents a pound ; 
coffee fifty cents a pound ; white sugar the same ; brown 
sugar twenty cents ; molasses a dollar a gallon ; potatoes 
a dollar a bushel. We do without such things mostly ; 
as there is yet plenty of bread and bacon (flour six and 
seven dollars a barrel, and good pork from six to eight 
cents a pound) we get along very comfortably. 

" Our new house is pretty much as it was, but they 
say it will be finished in July. I expect to visit you 
next summer, as I shall deliver the Phi Beta Kappa 
oration at Dartmouth College ; but whether wife and 
children come with me or not is not yet decided." 

Mrs. Stowe came on to the East with her husband 


and children during the following summer, and before 
her return made a trip through the White Mountains. 

In May, 1840, her second son was born and named 
Frederick William, after the sturdy Prussian king, for 
whom her husband cherished an unbounded admiration. 

Mrs. Stowe has said somewhere : " So we go, dear 
reader, so long as we have a body and a soul. For 
worlds must mingle, — the great and the little, the 
solemn and the trivial, wreathing in and out like the 
grotesque carvings on a gothic shrine ; only did we 
know it rightly, nothing is trivial, since the human soul, 
with its awful shadow, makes all things sacred." So 
in writing a biography it is impossible for us to tell 
what did and what did not powerfully influence the 
character. It is safer simply to tell the unvarnished 
truth. The lily builds up its texture of delicate beauty 
from mould and decay. So how do we know from 
what humble material a soul grows in strength and 
beauty ! 

In December, 1840, writing to Miss May, Mrs. Stowe 
says : — 

" For a year I have held the pen only to write an 
occasional business letter such as could not be neg- 
lected. This was primarily owing to a severe neuralgic 
complaint that settled in my eyes, and for two months 
not only made it impossible for me to use them in writ- 
ing, but to fix them with attention on anything. I 
could not even bear the least light of day in my room. 
Then my dear little Frederick was born, and for two 
months more I was confined to my bed. Besides all 
this, we have had an unusual amount of sickness in our 
family. . . . 


" For all that my history of the past year records so 
many troubles, I cannot on the whole regard it as a 
very troublous one. I have had so many counterbal- 
ancing mercies that I must regard myself as a person 
greatly blessed. It is true that about six months out of 
the twelve I have been laid up with sickness, but then 
I have had every comfort and the kindest of nurses 
in my faithful Anna. My children have thriven, and 
on the whole i come to more,' as the Yankees say, than 
the care of them. Thus you see my troubles have been 
but enough to keep me from loving earth too well." 

In the spring of 1842 Mrs. Stowe again visited 
Hartford, taking her six-year-old daughter Hatty with 
her. In writing from there to her husband she con- 
fides some of her literary plans and aspirations to him, 
and he answers : — 

" My dear, you must be a literary woman. It is so 
written in the book of fate. Make all your calculations 
accordingly. Get a good stock of health and brush up 
your mind. Drop the E. out of your name. It only 
incumbers it and interferes with the flow and euphony. 
Write yourself fully and always Harriet Beecher Stowe, 
which is a name euphonious, flowing, and full of mean- 
ing. Then my word for it, your husband will lift up 
his head in the gate, and your children will rise up and 
call you blessed. 

" Our humble dwelling has to-day received a distin- 
guished honor of which I must give you an account. 
It was a visit from his excellency the Baron de Roenne, 
ambassador of his majesty the King of Prussia to the 
United States. He was pleased to assure me of the 
great satisfaction my report on Prussian schools had 


afforded the king and members of his court, with much 
more to the same effect. Of course having a real live 
lord to exhibit, I was anxious for some one to exhibit 
him to ; but neither Aunt Esther nor Anna dared ven- 
ture near the study, though they both contrived to get 
a peep at his lordship from the little chamber window 
as he was leaving. 

" And now, my dear wife, I want you to come home 
as quick as you can. The fact is I cannot live without 
you, and if we were not so prodigious poor I would 
come for you at once. There is no woman like you 
in this wide world. Who else has so much talent with 
so little self-conceit ; so much reputation with so little 
affectation ; so much literature with so little nonsense ; 
so much enterprise with so little extravagance ; so much 
tongue with so little scold ; so much sweetness with so 
little softness ; so much of so many things and so little 
of so many other things ? " 

In answer to this letter Mrs. Stowe writes from Hart- 
ford : — 

" I have seen Johnson of the ( Evangelist.' He is 
very liberally disposed, and I may safely reckon on be- 
ing paid for all I do there. Who is that Hale, Jr., that 
sent me the ' Boston Miscellany,' and will he keep his 
word with me ? His offers are very liberal, — twenty 
dollars for three pages, not very close print. Is he to 
be depended on ? If so, it is the best offer I have re- 
ceived yet. I shall get something from the Harpers 
some time this winter or spring. Robertson, the pub- 
lisher here, says the book (' The Mayflower ') will sell, 
and though the terms they offer me are very low, that 
I shall make something on it. For a second volume I 


shall be able to make better terms. On the whole, my 
dear, if I choose to be a literary lady, I have, I think, 
as good a chance of making profit by it as any one I 
know of. But with all this, I have my doubts whether 
I shall be able to do so. 

" Our children are just coming to the age when 
everything depends on my efforts. They are delicate 
in health, and nervous and excitable, and need a moth- 
er's whole attention. Can I lawfully divide my atten- 
tion by literary efforts ? 

" There is one thing I must suggest. If I am to 
write, I must have a room to myself, which shall be my 
room. I have in my own mind pitched on Mrs. Whip- 
ple's room. I can put the stove in it. I have bought 
a cheap carpet for it, and I have furniture enough at 
home to furnish it comfortably, and I only beg in addi- 
tion that you will let me change the glass door from 
the nursery into that room and keep my plants there, 
and then I shall be quite happy. 

" All last winter I felt the need of some place where 
I could go and be quiet and satisfied. I could not 
there, for there was all the setting of tables, and clear- 
ing up of tables, and dressing and washing of children, 
and everything else going on, and the constant falling 
of soot and coal dust on everything in the room was a 
constant annoyance to me, and I never felt comfortable 
there though I tried hard. Then if I came into the 
parlor where you were I felt as if I were interrupting 
you, and you know you sometimes thought so too. 

" Now this winter let the cooking-stove be pui into 
that room, and let the pipe run up through the floor 
into the room above. We can eat by our cooking-stove, 


and the children can be washed and dressed and keep 
their playthings in the room above, and play there when 
we don't want them below. You can study by the par- 
lor fire, and I and my plants, etc., will take the other 
room. I shall keep my work and all my things there 
and feel settled and quiet. I intend to have a regular 
part of each day devoted to the children, and then I 
shall take them in there." 

In his reply to this letter Professor Stowe says : — 

" The little magazine (' The Souvenir ') goes ahead 
finely. Fisher sent down to Fulton the other day and 
got sixty subscribers. He will make the June number 
as handsome as possible, as a specimen number for the 
students, several of whom will take agencies for it dur- 
ing the coming vacation. You have it in your power 
by means of this little magazine to form the mind of 
the West for the coming generation. It is just as I 
told you in my last letter. God has written it in his 
book that you must be a literary woman, and who are 
we that we should contend against God ? You must 
therefore make all your calculations to spend the rest 
of your life with your pen. 

" If you only could come home to-day how happy 
should I be. I am daily finding out more and more 
(what I knew very well before) that you are the most 
intelligent and agreeable woman in the whole circle of 
my acquaintance." 

That Professor Stowe's devoted admiration for his 
wife was reciprocated, and that a most perfect sympathy 
of feeling existed between the husband and wife, is 
shown by a line in one of Mrs. Stowe's letters from 
Hartford in which she says : " I was telling Belle yes- 


terday that I did not know till I came away how much 
I was dependent upon you for information. There are 
a thousand favorite subjects on which I could talk with 
you better than with any one else. If you were not 
already my dearly loved husband I should certainly fall 
in love with you." 

In this same letter she writes of herself : — 

" One thing more in regard to myself. The absence 
and wandering of mind and forgetfulness that so often 
vexes you is a physical infirmity with me. It is the 
failing of a mind not calculated to endure a great pres- 
sure of care, and so much do I feel the pressure I am 
under, so much is my mind often darkened and troubled 
by care, that life seriously considered holds out few 
allurements, — only my children. 

" In returning to my family, from whom I have been 
so long separated, I am impressed with a new and 
solemn feeling of responsibility. It appears to me that 
I am not probably destined for long life ; at all events, 
the feeling is strongly impressed upon my mind that a 
work is put into my hands which I must be earnest to 
finish shortly. It is nothing great or brilliant in the 
world's eye ; it lies in one small family circle, of which 
I am called to be the central point." 

On her way home from this Eastern visit Mrs. Stowe 
traveled for the first time by rail, and of this novel 
experience she writes to Miss Georgiana May : — 

Batavia, August 29, 1842. 

Here I am at Brother William's, and our passage 
along this railroad reminds me of the verse of the 
psalm : — 

" Tho' lions roar and tempests blow, 
And rocks and dangers fill the way." 


Such confusion of tongues, such shouting and swear- 
ing, such want of all sort of system and decency in ar- 
rangements, I never desire to see again. I was literally 
almost trodden down and torn to pieces in the Rochester 
depot when I went to help my poor, near-sighted spouse 
in sorting out the baggage. You see there was an ac- 
cident which happened to the cars leaving Rochester 
that morning, which kept us two hours and a half at 
the passing place this side of Auburn, waiting for them 
to come up and go by us. The consequence was that 
we got into this Rochester depot aforesaid after dark, 
and the steamboat, the canal-boat, and the Western 
train of cars had all been kept waiting three hours be- 
yond their usual time, and they all broke loose upon us 
the moment we put our heads out of the cars, and such 
a jerking, and elbowing, and scuffling, and swearing, 
and protesting, and scolding you never heard, while the 
great locomotive sailed up and down in the midst there- 
of, spitting fire and smoke like some great fiend mon- 
ster diverting himself with our commotions. I do think 
these steam concerns border a little too much on the 
supernatural to be agreeable, especially when you are 
shut up in a great dark depot after sundown. 

Well, after all, we had to ride till twelve o'clock at 
night to get to Batavia, and I 've been sick abed, so to 
speak, ever since. 

The winter of 1842 was one of peculiar trial to the 
family at Walnut Hills ; as Mrs. Stowe writes, " It was 
a season of sickness and gloom." Typhoid fever raged 
among the students of the seminary, and the house of 
the president was converted into a hospital, while the 


members of his family were obliged to devote them- 
selves to nursing the sick and dying. 

July 6, 1843, a few weeks before the birth of her 
third daughter, Georgiana May, a most terrible and 
overwhelming sorrow came on Mrs. Stowe, in common 
with all the family, in the sudden death of her brother, 
the Rev. George Beecher. 

He was a young man of unusual talent and ability, 
and much loved by his church and congregation. The 
circumstances of his death are related in a letter written 
by Mrs. Stowe, and are as follows : " Noticing the birds 
destroying his fruit and injuring his plants, he went for 
a double-barreled gun, which he scarcely ever had used, 
out of regard to the timidity and anxiety of his wife in 
reference to it. Shortly after he left the house, one of 
the elders of his church in passing saw him discharge 
one barrel at the birds. Soon after he heard the fatal 
report and saw the smoke, but the trees shut out the 
rest from sight. ... In about half an hour after, the 
family assembled at breakfast, and the servant was sent 
out to call him. ... In a few minutes she returned, 
exclaiming, * Oh, Mr. Beecher is dead ! Mr. Beecher is 
dead ! ' ... In a short time a visitor in the family, 
assisted by a passing laborer, raised him up and bore 
him to the house. His face was pale and but slightly 
marred, his eyes were closed, and over his countenance 
rested the sweet expression of peaceful slumber. . . . 
Then followed the hurried preparations for the funeral 
and journey, until three o'clock, when, all arrange- 
ments being made, he was borne from his newly finished 
house, through his blooming garden, to the new church, 
planned and just completed under his directing eye. 


. . . The sermon and the prayers were finished, the 
choir he himself had trained sung their parting hymn, 
and at about five the funeral train started for a journey 
of over seventy miles. That night will stand alone in 
the memories of those who witnessed its scenes ! 

" At ten in the evening heavy clouds gathered low- 
ering behind, and finally rose so as nearly to cover the 
hemisphere, sending forth mutterings of thunder and 
constant flashes of lightning. 

" The excessive heat of the weather, the darkness of 
the night, the solitary road, the flaring of the lamps 
and lanterns, the flashes of the lightning, the roll of 
approaching thunder, the fear of being overtaken in an 
unfrequented place and the lights extinguished by the 
rain, the sad events of the day, the cries of the infant 
boy sick with the heat and bewailing the father who 
ever before had soothed his griefs, all combined to 
awaken the deepest emotions of the sorrowful, the aw- 
ful, and the sublime. . . . 

" And so it is at last ; there must come a time when 
all that the most heart-broken, idolizing love can give 
us is a coffin and a grave ! All that could be done for 
our brother, with all his means and all the affection of 
his people and friends, was just this, no more ! After 
all, the deepest and most powerful argument for the 
religion of Christ is its' power in times like this. Take 
from us Christ and what He taught, and what have we 
here ? What confusion, what agony, what dismay, 
what wreck and waste ! But give Him to us, even the 
most stricken heart can rise under the blow ; yea, even 
triumph ! 

" ' Thy brother shall rise again,' said Jesus ; and to 


us who weep He speaks : ' Rejoice, inasmuch as ye are 
made partakers of Christ's sufferings, that when his 
glory shall be revealed, ye also may be glad with ex- 
ceeding joy ! ' " 

The advent of Mrs. Stowe's third daughter was 
followed by a protracted illness and a struggle with 
great poverty, of which Mrs. Stowe writes in October, 
1843 : — 

" Our straits for money this year are unparalleled 
even in our annals. Even our bright and cheery neigh- 
bor Allen begins to look blue, and says $600 is the 
very most we can hope to collect of our salary, once 
$1,200. We have a flock of entirely destitute young 
men in the seminary, as poor in money as they are rich 
in mental and spiritual resources. They promise to be 
as fine a band as those we have just sent off. We have 
two from Iowa and Wisconsin who were actually crowded 
from secular pursuits into the ministry by the wants of 
the people about them. Revivals began, and the people 
came to them saying, ' We have no minister, and you 
must preach to us, for you know more than we do.' ' 

In the spring of 1844 Professor Stowe visited the 
East to arouse an interest in the struggling seminary 
and raise funds for its maintenance. While he was 
there he received the following letter from Mrs. 
Stowe : — 

" I am already half sick with confinement to the 
house and overwork. If I should sew every day for a 
month to come I should not be able to accomplish a 
half of what is to be done, and should be only more 
unfit for my other duties." 

This struggle against ill-health and poverty was con- 


tinued through that year and well into the next, when, 
during her husband's absence to attend a ministerial 
convention at Detroit, Mrs. Stowe writes to him : — 

June 16, 1845. 

My Dear Husband, — It is a dark, sloppy, rainy, 
muddy, disagreeable day, and I have been working hard 
(for me) all day in the kitchen, washing dishes, looking 
into closets, and seeing a great deal of that dark side 
of domestic life which a housekeeper may who will 
investigate too curiously into minutise in warm, damp 
weather, especially after a girl who keeps all clean on 
the outside of cup and platter, and is very apt to make 
good the rest of the text in the inside of things. 

I am sick of the smell of sour milk, and sour meat, 
and sour everything, and then the clothes will not dry, 
and no wet thing does, and everything smells mouldy ; 
and altogether I feel as if I never wanted to eat again. 

Your letter, which was neither sour nor mouldy, 
formed a very agreeable contrast to all these things ; 
the more so for being unexpected. I am much obliged 
to you for it. As to my health, it gives me very little 
solicitude, although I am bad enough and daily grow- 
ing worse. I feel no life, no energy, no appetite, or 
rather a growing distaste for food ; in fact, I am be- 
coming quite ethereal. Upon reflection I perceive that 
it pleases my Father to keep me in the fire, for my whole 
situation is excessively harassing and painful. I suffer 
with sensible distress in the brain, as I have done more 
or less since my sickness last winter, a distress which 
some days takes from me all power of planning or exe- 
cuting anything ; and you know that, except this poor 


head, my unfortunate household has no mainspring, for 
nobody feels any kind of responsibility to do a thing 
in time, place, or manner, except as I oversee it. 

Georgiana is so excessively weak, nervous, cross, and 
fretful, night and day, that she takes all Anna's strength 
and time with her ; and then the children are, like other 
little sons and daughters of Adam, full of all kinds of 
absurdity and folly. 

When the brain gives out, as mine often does, and 
one cannot think or remember anything, then what is 
to be done ? All common fatigue, sickness, and ex- 
haustion is nothing to this distress. Yet do I rejoice 
in my God and know in whom I believe, and only pray 
that the fire may consume the dross ; as to the gold, 
that is imperishable. No real evil can happen to me, 
so I fear nothing for the future, and only suffer in the 
present tense. 

God, the mighty God, is mine, of that I am sure, and 
I know He knows that though flesh and heart fail, I am 
all the while desiring and trying for his will alone. As 
to a journey, I need not ask a physician to see that it 
is needful to me as far as health is concerned, that is to 
say, all human appearances are that way, but I feel no 
particular choice about it. If God wills I go. He can 
easily find means. Money, I suppose, is as plenty with 
Kim now as it always has been, and if He sees it is 
really best He will doubtless help me. 

That the necessary funds were provided is evident 
from the fact that the journey was undertaken and the 
invalid spent the summer of 1845 in Hartford, in Na- 
tick, and in Boston. She was not, however, perma- 


nently benefited by the change, and in the following 
spring it was deemed necessary to take more rad- 
ical measures to arrest the progress of her increasing 
debility. After many consultations and much corre- 
spondence it was finally decided that she should go 
to Dr. Wesselhoeft's watercure establishment at Brat- 
tleboro', Vt. 

At this time, under date of March, 1846, she writes : 

" For all I have had trouble I can think of nothing 
but the greatness and richness of God's mercy to me 
in giving me such friends, and in always caring for us 
in every strait. There has been no day this winter 
when I have not had abundant reason to see this. 
Some friend has always stepped in to cheer and help, 
so that I have wanted for nothing. My husband has 
developed wonderfully as house-father and nurse. You 
would laugh to see him in his spectacles gravely march- 
ing the little troop in their nightgowns up to bed, tag- 
ging after them, as he says, like an old hen after a flock 
of ducks. The money for my journey has been sent 
in from an unknown hand in a wonderful manner. All 
this shows the care of our Father, and encourages me to 
rejoice and to hope in Him." 

A few days after her departure Professor Stowe wrote 
to his wife : — 

" I was greatly comforted by your brief letter from 
Pittsburgh. When I returned from the steamer the 
morning you left I found in the post-office a letter from 
Mrs. G. W. Bull of New York, inclosing $50 on ac- 
count of the sickness in my family. There was another 
inclosing $50 more from a Mrs. Devereaux of Raleigh, 
N. C, besides some smaller sums from others. My heart 


went out to God in aspiration and gratitude. None of 
the donors, so far as I know, have I ever seen or heard 
of before. 

" Henry and I have been living in a Robinson Cru- 
soe and man Friday sort of style, greatly to our satis- 
faction, ever since you went away." 

Mrs. Stowe was accompanied to Brattleboro' by her 
sisters, Catherine and Mary, who were also suffering 
from troubles that they felt might be relieved by hydro- 
pathic treatment. 

From May, 1846, until March, 1847, she remained 
at Brattleboro' without seeing her husband or children. 
During these weary months her happiest days were 
those upon which she received letters from home. 

The following extracts, taken from letters written by 
her during this period, are of value, as revealing what 
it is possible to know of her habits of thought and 
mode of life at this time. 

Brattleboro', September, 1846. 

My dear Husband, — I have been thinking of all 
your trials, and I really pity you in having such a wife. 
I feel as if I had been only a hindrance to you instead 
of a help, and most earnestly and daily do I pray to 
God to restore my health that I may do something for 
you and my family. I think if I were only at home I 
could at least sweep and dust, and wash potatoes, and 
cook a little, and talk some to my children, and should 
be doing something for my family. But the hope of 
getting better buoys me up. I go through these tedi- 
ous and wearisome baths and bear that terrible douche 
thinking of my children. They never will know how 
I love them. . . . 


There is great truth and good sense in your analysis 
of the cause of our past failures. We have now come 
to a sort of crisis. If you and I do as we should for 
five years to come the character of our three oldest 
children will be established. This is why I am willing 
to spend so much time and make such efforts to have 
health. Oh, that God would give me these five years 
in full possession of mind and body, that I may train 
my children as they should be trained. I am fully 
aware of the importance of system and order in a fam- 
ily. I know that nothing can be done without it ; it 
is the keystone, the sine qua non, and in regard to my 
children I place it next to piety. At the same time it 
is true that both Anna 1 and I labor under serious natu- 
ral disadvantages on this subject. It is not all that is 
necessary to feel the importance of order and system, 
but it requires a particular kind of talent to carry it 
through a family. Very much the same kind of talent, 
as Uncle Samuel said, which is necessary to make a 
good prime minister. . . . 

I think you might make an excellent sermon to Chris- 
tians on the care of health, in consideration of the va- 
rious infirmities and impediments to the developing the 
results of religion, that result from bodily ill health, and 
I wish you would make one that your own mind may 
be more vividly impressed with it. The world is too 
much in a hurry. Ministers think there is no way to 
serve Christ but to overdraw on their physical capital 
for four or five years for Christ and then have nothing 
to give, but become a mere burden on his hands for the 
next five. . . . 

1 The governess, Miss Anna Smith. 


November 18. " The daily course I go through pre- 
supposes a degree of vigor beyond anything I ever had 
before. For this week, I have gone before breakfast 
to the wave-bath and let all the waves and billows roll 
over me till every limb ached with cold and my hands 
would scarcely have feeling enough to dress me. After 
that I have walked till I was warm, and come home to 
breakfast with such an appetite ! Brown bread and 
milk are luxuries indeed, and the only fear is that I 
may eat too much. At eleven comes my douche, to 
which I have walked in a driving rain for the last two 
days, and after it walked in the rain again till I was 
warm. (The umbrella you gave me at Natick answers 
finely, as well as if it were a silk one.) After dinner I 
roll ninepins or walk till four, then sitz-bath, and another 
walk till six. 

" I am anxious for your health ; do be persuaded to 
try a long walk before breakfast. You don't know how 
much good it will do you. Don't sit in your hot study 
without any ventilation, a stove burning up all the 
vitality of the air and weakening your nerves, and 
above all, do amuse yourself. Go to Dr. Mussey's and 
spend an evening, and to father's and Professor Alien's. 
When you feel worried go off somewhere and forget 
and throw it off. I should really rejoice to hear that 
you and father and mother, with Professor and Mrs. 
Allen, Mrs. K., and a few others of the same calibre 
would agree to meet together for dancing cotillons. It 
would do you all good, and if you took Mr. K.'s wife 
and poor Miss Much-Afraid, her daughter, into the alli- 
ance it would do them good. Bless me ! what a pro- 
fane set everybody would think you were, and yet you 


are the people of all the world most solemnly in need 
of it. I wish you could be with me in Brattleboro' and 
coast down hill on a sled, go sliding and snowballing 
by moonlight ! I would snowball every bit of the 
hypo out of you ! Now, my dear, if you are going to 
get sick, I am going to come home. There is no use 
in my trying to get well if you, in the mean time, are 
going to run yourself down." 

January, 1847. 

My dear Soul, — I received your most melancholy 
effusion, and I am sorry to find it 's just so. I entirely 
agree and sympathize. Why didn't you engage the 
two tombstones — one for you and one for me ? 

I shall have to copy for your edification a " poem on 
tombstones " which Kate put at Christmas into the 

Ding, dong ! Dead and gone ! 

stocking of one of our most hypochondriac gentlemen, 
who had pished and pshawed at his wife and us for try- 
ing to get up a little fun. This poem was fronted with 
the above vignette and embellished with sundry similar 
ones, and tied with a long black ribbon. There were 



only two cantos in very concise style, so I shall send 
you them entire. 


In the kingdom of Mortin 
I had the good fortin' 
To find these verses 
On tombs and on hearses, 
Which I, being jinglish 
Have done into English. 


The man what 's so colickish 

When his friends are all frolickish 

As to turn up his noses 

And turn on his toses 

Shall have only verses 

On tombstones and hearses. 


But, seriously, my dear husband, you must try and 
be patient, for this cannot last forever. Be patient and 
bear it like the toothache, or a driving rain, or anything 
else that you cannot escape. To see things as through 
a glass darkly is your infirmity, you know ; but the 
Lord will yet deliver you from this trial. I know how 
to pity you, for the last three weeks I have suffered 
from an overwhelming mental depression, a perfect 
heartsickness. All I wanted was to' get home and die. 
Die I was very sure I should at any rate, but I suppose 
I was never less prepared to do so. 

The long exile was ended in the spring of 1847, and 
in May Mrs. Stowe returned to her Cincinnati home, 
where she was welcomed with sincere demonstrations of 
joy by her husband and children. 

Her sixth child, Samuel Charles, was born in Janu- 
ary of 1848, and about this time her husband's health 
became so seriously impaired that it was thought desir- 


able for him in turn to spend a season at the Brattle- 
boro' water-cure. He went in June, 1848, and was 
compelled by the very precarious state of his health to 
remain until September, 1849. During this period of 
more than a year Mrs. Stowe remained in Cincinnati 
caring for her six children, eking out her slender in- 
come by taking boarders and writing when she found 
time, confronting a terrible epidemic of cholera that 
carried off one of her little flock, and in every way 
showing herself to be a brave woman, possessed of a 
spirit that could rise superior to all adversity. Con- 
cerning this time she writes in January, 1849, to her 
dearest friend : — 

My beloved Georgy 5 — For six months after my 
return from Brattleboro' my eyes were so affected that 
I wrote scarce any, and my health was in so strange a 
state that I felt no disposition to write. After the 
birth of little Charley my health improved, but my hus- 
band was sick and I have been so loaded and burdened 
with cares as to drain me dry of all capacity of thought, 
feeling, memory, or emotion. 

" Well, Georgy, I am thirty-seven years old ! I am 
glad of it. I like to grow old and have six children 
and cares endless. I wish you could see me with my 
flock all around me. They sum up my cares, and 
were they gone I should ask myself, What now re- 
mains to be done ? They are my work, over which I 
fear and tremble. 

In the early summer of 1849 cholera broke out in 
Cincinnati, and soon became epidemic. Professor 


Stowe, absent in Brattleboro', and filled with anxiety 
for the safety of his family, was most anxious, in spite 
of his feeble health, to return and share the danger 
with them, but this his wife would not consent to, as 
is shown by her letters to him, written at this time. 
In one of them, dated June 29, 1849, she says : — 

My dear Husband, — This week has been unus- 
ually fatal. The disease in the city has been malig- 
nant and virulent. Hearse drivers have scarce been 
allowed to unharness their horses, while furniture carts 
and common vehicles are often employed for the re- 
moval of the dead. The sable trains which pass our 
windows, the frequent indications of crowding haste, 
and the absence of reverent decency have, in many 
cases, been most painful. Of course all these things, 
whether we will or no, bring very doleful images to the 

On Tuesday one hundred and sixteen deaths from 
cholera were reported, and that night the air was of 
that peculiarly oppressive, deathly kind that seems to 
lie like lead on the brain and soul. 

As regards your coming home, I am decidedly op- 
posed to it. First, because the chance of your being 
taken ill is just as great as the chance of your being 
able to render us any help. To exchange the salu- 
brious air of Brattleboro' for the pestilent atmosphere 
of this place with your system rendered sensitive by 
water-cure treatment would be extremely dangerous. 
It is a source of constant gratitude to me that neither 
you nor father are exposed to the dangers here. 

Second, none of us are sick, and it is very uncertain 
whether we shall be. 


Third, if we were sick there are so many of us that 
it is not at all likely we shall all be taken at once. 

July 1. Yesterday Mr. Stagg went to the city and 
found all gloomy and discouraged, while a universal 
panic seemed to be drawing nearer than ever before. 
Large piles of coal were burning on the cross walks 
and in the public squares, while those who had talked 
confidently of the cholera being confined to the lower 
classes and those who were imprudent began to feel as 
did the magicians of old, " This is the finger of God." 

Yesterday, upon the recommendation of all the cler- 
gymen of the city, the mayor issued a proclamation for 
a day of general fasting, humiliation, and prayer, to be 
observed on Tuesday next. 

July 3. We are all in good health and try to main- 
tain a calm and cheerful frame of mind. The doctors 
are nearly used up. Dr. Bowen and Dr. Peck are sick 
in bed. Dr. Potter and Dr. Pulte ought, I suppose, to 
be there also. The younger physicians have no rest 
night or day. Mr. Fisher is laid up from his incessant 
visitations with the sick and dying. Our own Dr. 
Brown is likewise prostrated, but we are all resolute to 
stand by each other, and there are so many of us that 
it is not likely we can all be taken sick together. 

July 4. All well. The meeting yesterday was very 
solemn and interesting. There is more or less sickness 
about us, but no very dangerous cases. One hundred 
and twenty burials from cholera alone yesterday, yet 
to-day we see parties bent on pleasure or senseless ca- 
rousing, while to-morrow and next day will witness a 
fresh harvest of death from them. How we can become 
accustomed to anything ! Awhile ago ten a day dying 


of cholera struck terror to all hearts ; but now the tide 
has surged up gradually until the deaths average over 
a hundred daily, and everybody is getting accustomed 
to it. Gentlemen make themselves agreeable to ladies 
by reciting the number of deaths in this house or that. 
This together with talk of funerals, cholera medicines, 
cholera dietetics, and chloride of lime form the ordinary 
staple of conversation. Serious persons of course throw 
in moral reflections to their taste. 

July 10. Yesterday little Charley was taken ill, 
not seriously, and at any other season I should not be 
alarmed. Now, however, a slight illness seems like a 
death sentence, and I will not dissemble that I feel 
from the outset very little hope. I still think it best 
that you should not return. By so doing you might 
lose all you have gained. You might expose yourself 
to a fatal incursion of disease. It is decidedly not 
your duty to do so. 

July 12. Yesterday I carried Charley to Dr. Pulte, 
who spoke in such a manner as discouraged and fright- 
ened me. He mentioned dropsy on the brain as a pos- 
sible result. I came home with a heavy heart, sorrow- 
ing, desolate, and wishing my husband and father were 

About one o'clock this morning Miss Stewart sud- 
denly opened my door crying, " Mrs. Stowe, Henry is 
vomiting." I was on my feet in an instant, and lifted 
up my heart for help. He was, however, in a few min- 
utes relieved. Then I turned my attention to Charley, 
who was also suffering, put him into a wet sheet, and 
kept him there until he was in a profuse perspiration. 
He is evidently getting better, and is auspiciously cross. 


Never was crossness in a baby more admired. Anna 
and I have said to each other exultingly a score of 
times, " How cross the little fellow is ! How he does 
scold ! " 

July 15. Since I last wrote our house has been a 
perfect hospital. Charley apparently recovering, but 
still weak and feeble, unable to walk or play, and so 
miserably fretful and unhappy. Sunday Anna and I 
were fairly stricken down, as many others are, with no 
particular illness, but with such miserable prostration. 
I lay on the bed all day reading my hymn-book and 
thinking over passages of Scripture. 

July 17. To-day we have been attending poor old 
Aunt Frankie's ! funeral. She died yesterday morning, 
taken sick the day before while washing. Good, hon- 
est, trustful old soul ! She was truly one who hun- 
gered and thirsted for righteousness. 

Yesterday morning our poor little dog, Daisy, who 
had been ailing the day before, was suddenly seized 
with frightful spasms and died in half an hour. Poor 
little affectionate thing ! If I were half as good for my 
nature as she for hers I should be much better than I 
am. While we were all mourning over her the news 
came that Aunt Frankie was breathing her last. Hatty, 
Eliza, Anna, and I made her shroud yesterday, and 
this morning I made her cap. We have just come 
from her grave. 

July 23. At last, my dear, the hand of the Lord 
hath touched us. We have been watching all day by 
the dying bed of little Charley, who is gradually sink- 
ing. After a partial recovery from the attack I de- 

1 An old colored woman. 


scribed in my last letter lie continued for some days 
very feeble, but still we hoped for recovery. About 
four days ago he was taken with decided cholera, and 
now there is no hope of his surviving this night. 

Every kindness is shown us by the neighbors. Do 
not return. All will be over before you could possi- 
bly get here, and the epidemic is now said by the phy- 
sicians to prove fatal to every new case. Bear up. 
Let us not faint when we are rebuked of Him. I dare 
not trust myself to say more but shall write again soon. 

July 26. 

My dear Husband, — At last it is over and our 
dear little one is gone from us. He is now among 
the blessed. My Charley — my beautiful, loving, glad- 
some baby, so loving, so sweet, so full of life and hope 
and strength — now lies shrouded, pale and cold, in the 
room below. Never was he anything to me but a com- 
fort. He has been my pride and joy. Many a heart- 
ache has he cured for me. Many an anxious night 
have I held him to my bosom and felt the sorrow and 
loneliness pass out of me with the touch of his little 
warm hands. Yet I have just seen him in his death 
agony, looked on his imploring face when I could not 
help nor soothe nor do one thing, not one, to mitigate 
his cruel suffering, do nothing but pray in my anguish 
that he might die soon. I write as though there were 
no sorrow like my sorrow, yet there has been in this 
city, as in the land of Egypt, scarce a* house without its 
dead. This heart-break, this anguish, has been every- 
where, and when it will end God alone knows. 


With this severest blow of all, the long years of 
trial and suffering in the West practically end ; for in 
September, 1849, Professor Stowe returned from Brat- 
tleboro', and at the same time received a call to the 
Collins Professorship at Bowdoin College, in Bruns- 
wick, Maine, that he decided to accept. 



Mrs. Stowe's Remarks on Writing and Understanding Biog- 
raphy. — Their Appropriateness to her own Biography. — 
Reasons for Professor Stowe's leaving Cincinnati. — Mrs. 
Stowe's Journey to Brooklyn. — Her Brother's Success as 
a Minister. — Letters from Hartford and Boston. — Arrives 
in Brunswick. — History of the Slavery Agitation. — Prac- 
tical Working of the Fugitive Slave Law. — Mrs. Edward 
Beecher's Letter to Mrs. Stowe and its Effect. — Domestic 
Trials. — Begins to write " Uncle Tom's Cabin " as a Serial 
for the " National Era." — Letter to Frederick Douglass. 
— "Uncle Tom's Cabin" a Work of Religious Emotion. 

Early in the winter of 1849 Mrs. Stowe wrote in 
a private journal in which she recorded thought and 
feeling concerning religious themes : " It has been said 
that it takes a man to write the life of a man ; that is, 
there must be similarity of mind in the person who 
undertakes to present the character of another. This 
is true, also, of reading and understanding biography. 
A statesman and general would read the life of Napo- 
leon with the spirit and the understanding, while the 
commonplace man plods through it as a task. The 
difference is that the one, being of like mind and spirit 
with the subject of the biography, is able to sympathize 
with him in all his thoughts and experiences, and the 
other is not. The life of Henry Martyn would be 
tedious and unintelligible to a mind like that of a 
Richelieu or a Mazarin. They never experienced or 


saw or heard anything like it, and would be quite at a 
loss where to place such a man in their mental cate- 
gories. It is not strange, therefore, that of all biog- 
raphy in the world that of Jesus Christ should be least 
understood. It is an exception to all the world has 
ever seen. ' The world knew Him not.' There is, to 
be sure, a simple grandeur about the life of Jesus which 
awes ahnost every mind. The most hardened scoffer, 
after he has jested and jeered at everything in the 
temple of Christianity, stands for a moment uncovered 
and breathless when he comes to the object of its adora- 
tion and feels how awful goodness is, and Virtue in her 
shape how lovely. Yet, after all, the character of the 
Christ has been looked at and not sympathized with. 
Men have turned aside to see this great sight. Chris- 
tians have fallen in adoration, but very few have tried 
to enter into his sympathies and to feel as He felt." 

How little she dreamed that these words were to be- 
come profoundly appropriate as a description of her 
own life in its relation to mankind ! How little the 
countless thousands who read, have read, and will read, 
" Uncle Tom's Cabin " enter into or sympathize with 
the feelings out of which it was written ! A delicate, 
sensitive woman struggling with poverty, with weary 
step and aching head attending to the innumerable 
demands of a large family of growing children ; a de- 
voted Christian seeking with strong crying and tears a 
kingdom not of this world, — is this the popular con- 
ception of the author of " Uncle Tom's Cabin " ? 
Nevertheless it is the reality. When, amid the burn- 
ing ruins of a besieged city, a mother's voice is heard 
uttering a cry of anguish over a child killed in her 


arms by a bursting shell, the attention is arrested, the 
heart is touched. So " Uncle Tom's Cabin " was a cry 
of anguish from a mother's heart, and uttered in sad 
sincerity. It was the bursting forth of deep feeling, 
with all the intense anguish of wounded love. It will 
be the purpose of this chapter to show this, and to 
cause to pass before the reader's mind the time, the 
household, and the heart from which this cry was 

After struggling for seventeen years with ill health 
and every possible vexation and hindrance in his work, 
Professor Stowe became convinced that it was his duty 
to himself and his family to seek some other field of 

February 6, 1850, he writes to his mother, in Na- 
tick, Mass. : " My health has not been good this win- 
ter, and I do not suppose that I should live long were 
I to stay here. I have done a great deal of hard work 
here, and. practiced no little self-denial. I have seen 
the seminary carried through a most vexatious series of 
lawsuits, ecclesiastical and civil, and raised from the 
depths of poverty to comparative affluence, and I feel 
at liberty now to leave. During the three months of 
June, July, and August last, more than nine thousand 
persons died of cholera within three miles of my house, 
and this winter, in the same territory, there have been 
more than ten thousand cases of small-pox, many of 
them of the very worst kind. Several have died on the 
hill, and the Jesuits' college near us has been quite 
broken up by it. There have been, however, no cases 
in our families or in the seminary. 

" I have received many letters from friends in the 


East expressing great gratification at the offer from 
Bowdoin College, and the hope that I would accept 
it. I am quite inclined to do so, but the matter is not 
yet finally settled, and there are difficulties in the way. 
They can offer me only $1,000 a year, and I must, 
out of it, hire my own house, at an expense of $75 to 
$100 a year. Here the trustees offer me $1,500 a 
year if I will stay, and a good house besides, which 
would make the whole salary equivalent to $1,800; 
and to-day I have had another offer from New York 
city of $2,300. ... On the whole, I have written to 
Bowdoin College, proposing to them if they will give 
me $500 free and clear in addition to the salary, I will 
accept their proposition, and I suppose that there is no 
doubt that they will do it. In that case I should come 
on next spring, in May or June." 

This offer from Bowdoin College was additionally 
attractive to Professor Stowe from the fact that it was 
the college from which he graduated, and where some 
of the happiest years of his life had been passed. 

The professorship was one just established through 
the gift of Mrs. Collins, a member of Bowdoin Street 
Church in Boston, and named in her honor, the " Col- 
lins Professorship of Natural and Revealed Religion." 

It was impossible for Professor Stowe to leave Lane 
Seminary till some one could be found to take his 
place ; so it was determined that Mrs. Stowe, with three 
of the children, should start for the East in April, and 
having established the family in Brunswick, Professor 
Stowe was to come on with the remaining children 
when his engagements would permit. 

The following extracts from a letter written by Mrs. 


Stowe at her brother Henry's, at Brooklyn, April 29, 
1850, show us that the journey was accomplished with- 
out special incident. 

" The boat got into Pittsburgh between four and 
five on Wednesday. The agent for the Pennsylvania 
Canal came on board and soon filled out our tickets, 
calling my three chicks one and a half. We had a 
quiet and agreeable passage, and crossed the slides at 
five o'clock in the morning, amid exclamations of un- 
bounded delight from all the children, to whom the 
mountain scenery was a new and amazing thing. We 
reached Hollidaysburg about eleven o'clock, and at two 
o'clock in the night were called up to get into the cars 
at Jacktown. Arriving at Philadelphia about three 
o'clock in the afternoon, we took the boat and railroad 
line for New York. 

" At Lancaster we telegraphed to Brooklyn, and 
when we arrived in New York, between ten and eleven 
at night, Cousin Augustus met us and took us over to 
Brooklyn. We had ridden three hundred miles since 
two o'clock that morning, and were very tired. ... I 
am glad we came that way, for the children have seen 
some of the finest scenery in our country. . . . Henry's 
people are more than ever in love with him, and have 
raised his salary to $3,300, and given him a beautiful 
horse and carriage worth $600. . . . My health is 
already improved by the journey, and I was able to 
walk a good deal between the locks on the canal. As 
to furniture, I think that we may safely afford an out- 
lay of $150, and that will purchase all that may be 
necessary to set us up, and then we can get more as 
we have means and opportunity. ... If I got any- 


thing for those pieces I wrote before coming away, I 
would like to be advised thereof by you. . . . My plan 
is to spend this week in Brooklyn, the next in Hart- 
ford, the next in Boston, and go on to Brunswick some 
time in May or June." 

May 18, 1850, we find her writing from Boston, 
where she is staying with her brother, Rev. Edward 
Beecher : — 

My dear Husband, — I came here from Hartford 
on Monday, and have since then been busily engaged 
in the business of buying and packing furniture. 

I expect to go to Brunswick next Tuesday night by 
the Bath steamer, which way I take as the cheaper. 
My traveling expenses, when I get to Brunswick, in- 
cluding everything, will have been seventy-six dollars. 
. . . And now, lastly, my dear husband, you have 
never been wanting ... in kindness, consideration, 
and justice, and I want you to reflect calmly how great 
a work has been imposed upon me at a time when my 
situation particularly calls for rest, repose, and quiet. 

To come alone such a distance with the whole charge 
of children, accounts, and baggage ; to push my way 
through hurrying crowds, looking out for trunks, and 
bargaining with hackmen, has been a very severe trial 
of my strength, to say nothing of the usual fatigues of 

It was at this time, and as a result of the experiences 
of this trying period, that Mrs. Stowe wrote that little 
tract dear to so many Christian hearts, " Earthly Care 
a Heavenly Discipline." 


On the eve of sailing for Brunswick, Mrs. Stowe 
writes to Mrs. Sykes (Miss May) : " I am wearied and 
worn out with seeing to bedsteads, tables, chairs, mat- 
tresses, with thinking about shipping my goods and 
making out accounts, and I have my trunk yet to pack, 
as I go on board the Bath steamer this evening. I beg 
you to look up Brunswick on the map ; it is about half 
a day's ride in the cars from Boston. I expect to reach 
there by the way of Bath by to-morrow forenoon. 
There I have a house engaged and kind friends who 
offer every hospitable assistance. Come, therefore, to 
see me, and we will have a long talk in the pine woods, 
and knit up the whole history from the place where we 
left it." 

Before leaving Boston she had written to her hus- 
band in Cincinnati : " You are not able just now to 
bear anything, my dear husband, therefore trust all to 
me ; I never doubt or despair. I am already making 
arrangements with editors to raise money. 

"I have sent some overtures to Wright. If he 
accepts my pieces and pays you for them, take the 
money and use it as you see necessary ; if not, be sure 
and bring the pieces back to me. I am strong in 
spirit, and God who has been with me in so many 
straits will not forsake me now. I know Him well ; He 
is my Father, and though I may be a blind and erring 
child, He will help me for all that. My trust through 
all errors and sins is in Him. He who helped poor 
timid Jacob through all his fears and apprehensions, 
who helped Abraham even when he sinned, who was 
with David in his wanderings, and who held up the too 
confident Peter when he began to sink, — He will help 


us, and his arms are about us, so that we shall not sink, 
my dear husband." 

May 29, 1850, she writes from Brunswick : " After 
a week of most incessant northeast storm, most dis- 
couraging and forlorn to the children, the sun has at 
length come out. . . . There is a fair wind blowing, 
and every prospect, therefore, that our goods will 
arrive promptly from Boston, and that we shall be in 
our own house by next week. Mrs. Upham x has done 
everything for me, giving up time and strength and 
taking charge of my affairs in a way without which we 
could not have got along at all in a strange place and 
in my present helpless condition. This family is de- 
lightful, there is such a perfect sweetness and quietude in 
all its movements. Not a harsh word or hasty expres- 
sion is ever heard. It is a beautiful pattern of a Chris- 
tian family, a beautiful exemplification of religion. . . . 

The events of the first summer in Brunswick are 
graphically described by Mrs. Stowe in a letter written 
to her sister-in-law, Mrs. George Beecher, December 17, 

My dear Sister, — Is it really true that snow is on 
the ground and Christmas coming, and I have not 
written unto thee, most dear sister? No, I don't 
believe it ! I have n't been so naughty — it 's all a 
mistake — yes, written I must have — and written I 
have, too — in the night-watches as I lay on my bed — 
such beautiful letters — I wish you had only gotten 
them ; but by day it has been hurry, hurry, hurry, and 
drive, drive, drive ! or else the calm of a sick-room, 
ever since last spring. 

1 Wife of Professor Upham of Bowdoin College. 


I put off writing when your letter first came because 
I meant to write you a long letter — a full and com- 
plete one, and so days slid by, — and became weeks, 
— and my little Charlie came . . . etc. and etc. ! ! ! 
Sarah, when I look back, I wonder at myself, not that 
I forget any one thing that I should remember, but 
that I have remembered anything. From the time that 
I left Cincinnati with my children to come forth to a 
country that I knew not of almost to the present time, 
it has seemed as if I could scarcely breathe, I was so 
pressed with care. My head dizzy with the whirl of 
railroads and steamboats ; then ten days' sojourn in Bos- 
ton, and a constant toil and hurry in buying my furni- 
ture and equipments ; and then landing in Brunswick 
in the midst of a drizzly, inexorable northeast storm, 
and beginning the work of getting in order a deserted, 
dreary, damp old house. All day long running from 
one thing to another, as for example, thus : — 

Mrs. Stowe, how shall I make this lounge, and what 
shall I cover the back with first ? 

Mrs. Stowe. With the coarse cotton in the closet. 

Woman. Mrs. Stowe, there is n't any more soap to 
clean the windows. 

Mrs. Stowe. Where shall I get soap ? 

Here H., run up to the store and get two bars. 

There is a man below wants to see Mrs. Stowe about 
the cistern. Before you go down, Mrs. Stowe, just 
show me how to cover this round end of the lounge. 

There 's a man up from the depot, and he says that 
a box has come for Mrs. Stowe, and it 's coming up to 
the house ; will you come down and see about it ? 

Mrs. Stowe, don't go till you have shown the man 


how to nail that carpet in the corner. He 's nailed it 
all crooked ; what shall he do ? The black thread is 
all used up, and what shall I do about putting gimp on 
the back of that sofa? Mrs. Stowe, there is a man 
come with a lot of pails and tinware from Furbish ; will 
you settle the bill now ? 

Mrs. Stowe, here is a letter just come from Boston 
inclosing that bill of lading ; the man wants to know 
what he shall do with the goods. If you will tell me 
what to say I will answer the letter for you. 

Mrs. Stowe, the meat-man is at the door. Had n't 
we better get a little beefsteak, or something, for din- 
ner ? 

Shall Hatty go to Boardman's for some more black 
thread ? 

Mrs. Stowe, this cushion is an inch too wide for the 
frame. What shall we do now? 

Mrs. Stowe, where are the screws of the black walnut 
bedstead ? 

Here 's a man has brought in these bills for freight. 
Will you settle them now ? 

Mrs. Stowe, I don't understand using this great 
needle. I can't make it go through the cushion ; it 
sticks in the cotton. 

Then comes a letter from my husband saying he is 
sick abed, and all but dead ; don't ever expect to see 
his family again ; wants to know how I shall manage, 
in case I am left a widow ; knows we shall get in debt 
and never get out ; wonders at my courage ; thinks I 
am very sanguine ; warns me to be prudent, as there 
won't be much to live on in case of his death, etc., etc., 
etc. I read the letter and poke it into the stove, and 
proceed. . . . 


Some of my adventures were quite funny ; as for 
example : I had in my kitchen elect no sink, cistern, or 
any other water privileges, so I bought at the cotton 
factory two of the great hogsheads they bring oil in, 
which here in Brunswick are often used for cisterns, 
and had them brought up in triumph to my yard, and 
was congratulating myself on my energy, when lo and 
behold ! it was discovered that there was no cellar door 
except one in the kitchen, which was truly a strait and 
narrow way, down a long pair of stairs. Hereupon, as 
saith John Bunyan, I fell into a muse, — how to get 
my cisterns into my cellar. In days of chivalry I 
might have got a knight to make me a breach through 
the foundation walls, but that was not to be thought of 
now, and my oil hogsheads standing disconsolately in 
the yard seemed to reflect no great credit on my fore- 
sight. In this strait I fell upon a real honest Yankee 
cooper, whom I besought, for the reputation of his 
craft and mine, to take my hogsheads to pieces, carry 
them down in staves, and set them up again, which the 
worthy man actually accomplished one fair summer 
forenoon, to the great astonishment of " us Yankees." 
When my man came to put up the pump, he stared 
very hard to see my hogsheads thus translated and 
standing as innocent and quiet as could be in the cel- 
lar, and then I told him, in a very mild, quiet way, that 
I got 'em taken to pieces and put together — just as if 
I had been always in the habit of doing such things. 
Professor Smith came down and looked very hard at 
them and then said, " Well, nothing can beat a willful 
woman." Then followed divers negotiations with a 
very clever, but (with reverence) somewhat lazy gentle- 


man of jobs, who occupieth a carpenter's shop opposite 
to mine. This same John Titcomb, my very good 
friend, is a character peculiar to Yankeedom. He is 
part owner and landlord of the house I rent, and con- 
nected by birth with all the best families in town ; a 
man of real intelligence, and good education, a great 
reader, and quite a thinker. Being of an ingenious 
turn he does painting, gilding, staining, upholstery 
jobs, varnishing, all in addition to his primary trade of 
carpentry. But he is a man studious of ease, and fully 
possessed with the idea that man wants but little here 
below ; so he boards himself in his workshop on crack- 
ers and herring, washed down with cold water, and 
spends his time working, musing, reading new publica- 
tions, and taking his comfort. In his shop you shall 
see a joiner's bench, hammers, planes, saws, gimlets, 
varnish, paint, picture frames, fence posts, rare old 
china, one or two fine portraits of his ancestry, a book- 
case full of books, the tooth of a whale, an old spin- 
ning-wheel and spindle, a lady's parasol frame, a church 
lamp to be mended, in short, Henry says Mr. Titcomb's 
shop is like the ocean ; there is no end to the curiosities 
in it. 

In all my moving and fussing Mr. Titcomb has been 
my right-hand man. Whenever a screw was loose, a 
nail to be driven, a lock mended, a pane of glass set, 
and these cases were manifold, he was always on hand. 
But my sink was no fancy job, and I believe nothing 
but a very particular friendship would have moved him 
to undertake it. So this same sink lingered in a preca- 
rious state for some weeks, and when I had nothing 
else to do, I used to call and do what I could in the 


way of enlisting the good man's sympathies in its be- 

How many times I have been in and seated myself 
in one of the old rocking-chairs, and talked first of the 
news of the day, the railroad, the last proceedings in 
Congress, the probabilities about the millennium, and 
thus brought the conversation by little and little round 
to my sink ! . . . because, till the sink was done, the 
pump could not be put up, and we could n't have any 
rain-water. Sometimes my courage would quite fail me 
to introduce the subject, and I would talk of every- 
thing else, turn and get out of the shop, and then turn 
back as if a thought had just struck my mind, and 
say : — 

" Oh, Mr. Titcomb ! about that sink?" 

" Yes, ma'am, I was thinking about going down 
street this afternoon to look out stuff for it." 

" Yes, sir, if you would be good enough to get it 
done as soon as possible ; we are in great need of it." 

" I think there 's no hurry. I believe we are going 
to have a dry time now, so that you could not catch 
any water, and you won't need a pump at present." 

These negotiations extended from the first of June 
to the first of July, and at last my sink was completed, 
and so also was a new house spout, concerning which I 
had had divers communings with Deacon Dunning of 
the Baptist church. Also during this time good Mrs. 
Mitchell and myself made two sofas, or lounges, a bar- 
rel chair, divers bedspreads, pillow cases, pillows, bol- 
sters, mattresses ; we painted rooms ; we revarnished 
furniture ; we — what did tit we do ? 

Then came on Mr. Stowe j and then came the eighth 


of July and my little Charley. I was really glad for 
an excuse to lie in bed, for I was full tired, I can assure 
you. Well, I was what folks call very comfortable for 
two weeks, when my nurse had to leave me. . . . 

During* this time I have employed my leisure hours 
in making up my engagements with newspaper editors. 
I have written more than anybody, or I myself, would 
have thought. I have taught an hour a day in our 
school, and I have read two hours every evening to the 
children. The children study English history in school, 
and I am reading Scott's historic novels in their order. 
To-night I finish the " Abbot ; " shall begin " Kenil- 
worth " next week ; yet I am constantly pursued and 
haunted by the idea that I don't do anything. Since I 
began this note I have been called off at least a dozen 
times ; once for the fish-man, to buy a codfish ; once to 
see a man who had brought me some barrels of apples ; 
once to see a book-man ; then to Mrs. Upham, to see 
about a drawing I promised to make for her ; then to 
nurse the baby ; then into the kitchen to make a chow- 
der for dinner ; and now I am at it again, for nothing 
but deadly determination enables me ever to write ; it 
is rowing against wind and tide. 

I suppose you think now I have begun, I am never 
going to stop, and in truth it looks like it; but the 
spirit moves now and I must obey. 

Christmas is coming, and our little household is all 
alive with preparations ; every one collecting their lit- 
tle gifts with wonderful mystery and secrecy. . . . 

To tell the truth, dear, I am getting tired ; my neck 
and back ache, and I must come to a close. 

Your ready kindness to me in the spring I felt very 


much ; and why I did not have the sense to have sent 
you one line just by way of acknowledgment, I'm 
sure I don't know ; I felt just as if I had, till I awoke, 
and behold ! I had not. But, my dear, if my wits are 
somewhat wool-gathering and unsettled, my heart is as 
true as a star. I love you, and have thought of you 

This fall I have felt often sad, lonesome, both very 
unusual f eelings with me in these busy days ; but the 
breaking away from my old home, and leaving father 
and mother, and coming to a strange place affected me 
naturally. In those sad hours my thoughts have often 
turned to George ; I have thought with encourage- 
ment of his blessed state, and hoped that I should soon 
be there too. I have many warm and kind friends 
here, and have been treated with great attention and 
kindness. Brunswick is a delightful residence, and if 
you come East next summer you must come to my new 
home. George 1 would delight to go a-fishing with the 
children, and see the ships, and sail in the sailboats, 
and all that. 

Give Aunt Harriet's love to him, and tell him when 
he gets to be a painter to send me a picture. 

Affectionately yours, H. Stowe. 

The year 1850 is one memorable in the history of 
our nation as well as in the quiet household that we 
have followed in its pilgrimage from Cincinnati to 

The signers of the Declaration of Independence and 
the statesmen and soldiers of the Revolution were no 

1 Her brother George's only child. 


friends of negro slavery. In fact, the very principles 
of the Declaration of Independence sounded the death- 
knell of slavery forever. No stronger utterances 
against this national sin are to be found anywhere 
than in the letters and published writings of Jefferson, 
Washington, Hamilton, and Patrick Henry. "Jeffer- 
son encountered difficulties greater than he could over- 
come, and after vain wrestlings the words that broke 
from him, ' I tremble for my country when I reflect 
that God is just and that his justice cannot sleep for- 
ever,' were the words of despair. 

" It was the desire of Washington's heart that Vir- 
ginia should remove slavery by a public act; and as 
the prospects of a general emancipation grew more and 
more dim ... he did all that he could by bequeathing 
freedom to his own slaves." ' 

Hamilton was one of the founders of the Manumis- 
sion Society, the object of which was the abolition of 
slaves in the State of New York. Patrick Henry, 
speaking of slavery, said : " A serious view of this 
subject gives a gloomy prospect to future times." Slav- 
ery was thought by the founders of our Republic to 
be a dying institution, and all the provisions of the 
Constitution touching slavery looked towards gradual 
emancipation as an inevitable result of the growth of 
the democracy. 

From an economic standpoint slave labor had ceased 
to be profitable. " The whole interior of the Southern 
States was languishing, and its inhabitants emigrating, 
for want of some object to engage their attention and 
employ their industry." The cultivation of cotton was 

1 Bancroft's funeral oration on Lincoln. 


not profitable for the reason that there was no machine 
for separating the seed from the fibre. 

This was the state of affairs in 1793, when Eli 
Whitney, a New England mechanic, at this time resid- 
ing in Savannah, Georgia, invented his cotton-gin, or a 
machine to separate seed and fibre. " The invention 
of this machine at once set the whole country in active 
motion." * The effect of this invention may to some 
extent be appreciated when we consider that whereas 
in 1793 the Southern States produced only about five 
or ten thousand bales, in 1859 they produced over five 
millions. But with this increase of the cotton culture 
the value of slave property was augmented. Slavery 
grew and spread. In 1818 to 1821 it first became a 
factor in politics during the Missouri compromise. By 
this compromise slavery was not to extend north of 
latitude 36° 30'. From the time of this compromise 
till the year 1833 the slavery agitation slumbered. 
This was the year that the British set the slaves free 
in their West Indian dependencies. This act caused 
great uneasiness among the slaveholders of the South. 
The National Anti-Slavery Society met in Philadelphia 
and pronounced slavery a national sin, which could be 
atoned for only by immediate emancipation. Such men 
as Garrison and Lundy began a work of agitation that 
was soon to set the whole nation in a ferment. From 
this time on slavery became the central problem of 
American history, and the line of cleavage in American 
politics. The invasion of Florida when it was yet the 
territory of a nation at peace with the United States, 
and its subsequent purchase from Spain, the annexa- 

1 Greeley's American Conflict, vol. i. p. 65. 


tion of Texas and the war with Mexico, were the direct 
results of the policy of the pro-slavery party to increase 
its influence and its territory. In 1849 the State of 
California knocked at the door of the Union for admis- 
sion as a free State. This was bitterly opposed by the 
slaveholders of the South, who saw in it a menace to 
the slave-power from the fact that no slave State was 
seeking admission at the same time. Both North and 
South the feeling ran so high as to threaten the dis- 
memberment of the Union, and the scenes of violence 
and bloodshed which were to come eleven years after- 
wards. It was to preserve the Union and avert the 
danger of the hour that Henry Clay brought forward 
his celebrated compromise measures in the winter of 
1850. To conciliate the North, California was to be 
admitted as a free State. To pacify the slaveholders 
of the South, more stringent laws were to' be enacted 
" concerning persons bound to service in one State and 
escaping into another." 

The 7th of March, 1850, Daniel Webster made his 
celebrated speech, in which he defended this compro- 
mise, and the abolitionists of the North were filled with 
indignation, which found its most fitting expression in 
Whittier's " Ichabod : " " So fallen, so lost, the glory 
from his gray hairs gone." ..." When honor dies 
the man is dead." 

It was in the midst of this excitement that Mrs. 
Stowe, with her children and her modest hopes for the 
future, arrived at the house of her brother, Dr. Edward 

Dr. Beecher had been the intimate friend and sup- 
porter of Love joy, who had been murdered by the 


slaveholders at Alton for publishing an anti-slavery 
paper. His soul was stirred to its very depths by the 
iniquitous law which was at this time being debated 
in Congress, — a law which not only gave the slave- 
holder of the South the right to seek out and bring 
back into slavery any colored person whom he claimed 
as a slave, but commanded the people of the free 
States to assist in this revolting business. The most 
frequent theme of conversation while Mrs. Stowe was 
in Boston was this proposed law, and when she arrived 
in Brunswick her soul was all on fire with indignation 
at this new indignity and wrong about to be inflicted 
by the slave-power on the innocent and defenseless. 

After the passage of the Fugitive Slave Act, letter 
after letter was received by Mrs. Stowe in Brunswick 
from Mrs. Edward Beecher and other friends, describ- 
ing the heart-rending scenes which were the inevitable 
results of the enforcement of this terrible law. Cities 
were more available for the capturing of escaped slaves 
than the country, and Boston, which claimed to have 
the cradle of liberty, opened her doors to the slave- 
hunters. The sorrow and anguish caused thereby no 
pen could describe. Families were broken up. Some 
hid in garrets and cellars. Some fled to the wharves 
and embarked in ships and sailed for Europe. Others 
went to Canada. One poor fellow who was doing good 
business as a crockery merchant, and supporting his 
family well, when he got notice that his master, whom 
he had left many years before, was after him, set out 
for Canada in midwinter on foot, as he did not dare to 
take a public conveyance. He froze both of his feet 
on the journey, and they had to be amputated. Mrs. 


Edward Beecher, in a letter to Mrs. Stowe's son, writ- 
ing of this period, says : — 

" I had been nourishing an anti-slavery spirit since 
Love joy was murdered for publishing in his paper 
articles against slavery and intemperance, when our 
home was in Illinois. These terrible things which 
were going on in Boston were well calculated to rouse 
up this spirit. What can I do ? I thought. Not 
much myself, but I know one who can. So I wrote 
several letters to your mother, telling her of various 
heart-rending events caused by the enforcement of the 
Fugitive Slave Law. I remember distinctly saying in 
one of them, ' Now, Hattie, if I could use a pen as you 
can, I would write something that would make this 
whole nation feel what an accursed thing slavery is.' 
. . . When we lived in Boston your mother often 
visited us. . . . Several numbers of i Uncle Tom's 
Cabin ' were written in your Uncle Edward's study at 
these times, and read to us from the manuscripts." 

A member of Mrs. Stowe's family well remembers 
the scene in the little parlor in Brunswick when the 
letter alluded to was received. Mrs. Stowe herself read 
it aloud to the assembled family, and when she came 
to the passage, " I would write something that would 
make this whole nation feel what an accursed thing 
slavery is," Mrs. Stowe rose up from her chair, crush- 
ing the letter in her hand, and with an expression on 
her face that stamped itself on the mind of her child, 
said : " I will write something. I will if I live." 

This was the origin of " Uncle Tom's Cabin," and 
Professor Cairnes has well said in his admirable work, 
" The Slave Power," " The Fugitive Slave Law has 


been to the slave power a questionable gain. Among 
its first-fruits was ' Uncle Tom's Cabin.' " 

The purpose of writing a story that should make the 
the whole nation feel that slavery was an accursed 
thing was not immediately carried out. In December, 
1850, Mrs. Stowe writes : " Tell sister Katy I thank 
her for her letter and will answer it. As loner as the 
baby sleeps with me nights I can't do much at any- 
thing, but I will do it at last. I will write that thing 
if I live. 

" What are folks in general saying about the slave 
law, and the stand taken by Boston ministers univer- 
sally, except Edward ? 

" To me it is incredible, amazing, mournful ! ! I 
feel as if I should be willing to sink with it, were all 
this sin and misery to sink in the sea. ... I wish 
father would come on to Boston, and preach on the 
Fugitive Slave Law, as he once preached on the slave- 
trade, when I was a little girl in Litchfield. I sobbed 
aloud in one pew and Mrs. Judge Reeves in another. 
I wish some Martin Luther would arise to set this com- 
munity right." 

December 22, 1850, she writes to her husband in 
Cincinnati : " Christmas has passed, not without many 
thoughts of our absent one. If you want a descrip- 
tion of the scenes in our family preceding it, vide a 
' New Year's Story,' which I have sent to the * New 
York Evangelist.' I am sorry that in the hurry of 
getting off this piece and one for the * Era ' you were 
neglected." The piece for the " Era " was a humorous 
article called " A Scholar's Adventures in the Country," 
being, in fact, a picture drawn from life and embody- 


ing Professor Stowe's efforts in the department of agri- 
culture while in Cincinnati. 

December 29, 1850. " We have had terrible weather 
here. I remember such a storm when I was a child in 
Litchfield. Father and mother went to Warren, and 
were almost lost in the snowdrifts. 

"Sunday night I rather watched than slept. The 
wind howled, and the house rocked just as our old 
Litchfield house used to. The cold has been so intense 
that the children have kept begging to get up from 
table at meal-times to warm feet and fingers. Our air- 
tight stoves warm all but the floor, — heat your head 
and keep your feet freezing. If I sit by the open fire 
in the parlor my back freezes, if I sit in my bedroom 
and try to write my head aches and my feet are cold. 
I am projecting a sketch for the ' Era ' on the capa- 
bilities of liberated blacks to take care of themselves. 
Can't you find out for me how much Willie Watson 
has paid for the redemption of his friends, and get any 
items in figures of that kind that you can pick up in 
Cincinnati ? . . . When I have a headache and feel 
sick, as I do to-day, there is actually not a place in the 
house where I can lie down and take a nap without be- 
ing disturbed. Overhead is the school-room, next door 
is the dining-room, and the girls practice there two 
hours a day. If I lock my door and lie down some one 
is sure to be rattling the latch before fifteen minutes 
have passed. . . . There is no doubt in my mind that 
our expenses this year will come two hundred dollars, 
if not three, beyond our salary. We shall be able to 
come through, notwithstanding; but I don't want to 
*eel obliged to work as hard every year as I have this. 


I can earn four hundred dollars a year by writing, but 
I don't want to feel that I must, and when weary with 
teaching the children, and tending the baby, and buy- 
ing provisions, and mending dresses, and darning stock- 
ings, sit down and write a piece for some paper." 

January 12, 1851, Mrs. Stowe again writes to Pro- 
fessor Stowe at Cincinnati : " Ever since we left Cin- 
cinnati to come here the good hand of God has been 
visibly guiding our way. Through what difficulties 
have we been brought ! Though we knew not where 
means were to come from, yet means have been fur- 
nished every step of the way, and in every time of 
need. I was just in some discouragement with regard 
to my writing ; thinking that the editor of the ' Era ' 
was overstocked with contributors, and would not want 
my services another year, and lo ! he sends me one 
hundred dollars, and ever so many good words with it. 
Our income this year will be seventeen hundred dol- 
lars in all, and I hope to bring our expenses within 
thirteen hundred." 

It was in the month of February after these words 
were written that Mrs. Stowe was seated at communion 
service in the college church at Brunswick. Suddenly, 
like the unrolling of a picture, the scene of the death 
of Uncle Tom passed before her mind. So strongly 
was she affected that it was with difficulty she could 
keep from weeping aloud. Immediately on returning 
home she took pen and paper and wrote out the vision 
which had been as it were blown into her mind as by 
the rushing of a mighty wind. Gathering her family 
about her she read what she had written. Her two 
little ones of ten and twelve years of age broke into 


convulsions of weeping, one of them saying through 
his sobs, " Oh, mamma ! slavery is the most cruel thing 
in the world." Thus Uncle Tom was ushered into the 
world, and it was, as we said at the beginning, a cry, 
an immediate, an involuntary expression of deep, im- 
passioned feeling. 

Twenty-five years afterwards Mrs. Stowe wrote in a 
letter to one of her children, of this period of her life : 
" I well remember the winter you were a baby and I 
was writing ' Uncle Tom's Cabin.' My heart was burst- 
ing with the anguish excited by the cruelty and injus- 
tice our nation was showing to the slave, and praying 
God to let me do a little and to cause my cry for them 
to be heard. I remember many a night weeping over 
you as you lay sleeping beside me, and I thought of 
the slave mothers whose babes were torn from them." 

It was not till the following April that the first 
chapter of the story was finished and sent on to the 
" National Era " at Washington. 

In July Mrs. Stowe wrote to Frederick Douglass the 
following letter, which is given entire as the best possi- 
ble introduction to the history of the career of that 
memorable work, " Uncle Tom's Cabin." 

Brunswick, July 9, 1851. 

Frederick Douglass, Esq. : 

Sir, — You may perhaps have noticed in your ed- 
itorial readings a series of articles that I am furnish- 
ing for the " Era " under the title of " Uncle Tom's 
Cabin, or Life among the Lowly." 

In the course of my story the scene will fall upon a 
cotton plantation. I am very desirous, therefore, to 


gain information from one who has been an actual 
laborer on one, and it occurred to me that in the circle 
of your acquaintance there might be one who would 
be able to communicate to me some such .information 
as I desire. I have before me an able paper written 
by a Southern planter, in which the details and modus 
operandi are given from his point of sight. I am 
anxious to have something more from another stand- 
point. I wish to be able to make a picture that shall 
be graphic and true to nature in its details. Such a 
person as Henry Bibb, if in the country, might give 
me just the kind of information I desire. You may 
possibly know of some other person. I will subjoin 
to this letter a list of questions, which in that case you 
will do me a favor by inclosing to the individual, with 
the request that he will at earliest convenience answer 

For some few weeks past I have received your paper 
through the mail, and have read it with great interest, 
and desire to return my acknowledgments for it. It 
will be a pleasure to me at some time when less occu- 
pied to contribute something to its columns. I have 
noticed with regret your sentiments on two subjects — 
the church and African colonization, . . . with the 
more regret because I think you have a considerable 
share of reason for your feelings on both these sub- 
jects ; but I would willingly, if I could, modify your 
views on both points. 

In the first place you say the church is " pro-slav- 
ery." There is a sense in which this may be true. 
The American church of all denominations, taken as 
a body, comprises the best and most conscientious peo- 


pie in the country. I do not say it comprises none but 
these, or that none such are found out of it, but 
only if a census were taken of the purest and most high 
principled men and women of the country, the majority 
of them would be found to be professors of religion in 
some of the various Christian denominations. This 
fact has given to the church great weight in this coun- 
try — the general and predominant spirit of intelli- 
gence and probity and piety of its majority has given 
it that degree of weight that it has the power to de- 
cide the great moral questions of the day. Whatever 
it unitedly and decidedly sets itself against as moral 
evil it can put down. In this sense the church is re- 
sponsible for the sin of slavery. Dr. Barnes has beau- 
tifully and briefly expressed this on the last page of 
his work on slavery, when he says : " Not all the force 
out of the church could sustain slavery an hour if it 
were not sustained in it." It then appears that the 
church has the power to put an end to this evil and 
does not do it. In this sense she may be said to be 
pro-slavery. But the church has the same power over 
intemperance, and Sabbath-breaking, and sin of all 
kinds. There is not a doubt that if the moral power 
of the church were brought up to the New Testament 
standpoint it is sufficient to put an end to all these as 
well as to slavery. But I would ask you, Would you 
consider it a fair representation of the Christian church 
in this country to say that it is pro-intemperance, pro- 
Sabbath-breaking, and pro everything that it might put 
down if it were in a higher state of moral feeling ? If 
you should make a list of all the abolitionists of the 
country, I think that you would find a majority of 


them in the church — certainly some of the most in- 
fluential and efficient ones are ministers. 

I am a minister's daughter, and a minister's wife, 
and I have had six brothers in the ministry (one is in 
heaven) ; I certainly ought to know something of the 
feelings of ministers on this subject. I was a child in 
1820 when the Missouri question was agitated, and one 
of the strongest and deepest impressions on my mind 
was that made by my father's sermons and prayers, and 
the anguish of his soul for the poor slave at that time. 
I remember his preaching drawing tears down the 
hardest faces of the old farmers in his congregation. 

I well remember his prayers morning and evening in 
the family for " poor, oppressed, bleeding Africa," that 
the time of her deliverance might come ; prayers offered 
with strong crying and tears, and which indelibly im- 
pressed my heart and made me what I am from my 
very soul, the enemy of all slavery. Every brother I 
have has been in his sphere a leading anti-slavery man. 
One of them was to the last the bosom friend and 
counselor of Lovejoy. As for myself and husband, we 
have for the last seventeen years lived on the border of 
a slave State, and we have never shrunk from the fugi- 
tives, and we have helped them with all we had to give. 
I have received the children of liberated slaves into a 
family school, and taught them with my own children, 
and it has been the influence that we found in the 
\ church and by the altar that has made us do all this. 
Gather up all the sermons that have been published on 
this offensive and unchristian Fugitive Slave Law, and 
you will find that those against it are numerically more 
than those in its favor, and yet some of the strongest 


opponents have not published their sermons. Out of 
thirteen ministers who meet with my husband weekly 
for discussion of moral subjects, only three are found 
who will acknowledge or obey this law in any shape. 

After all, my brother, the strength and hope of your 
oppressed race does He in the church — in hearts united 
to Him of whom it is said, " He shall spare the souls 
of the needy, and precious shall their blood be in his 
sight." Everything is against you, but Jesus Christ is 
for you, and He has not forgotten his church, mis- 
guided and erring though it be. I have looked all the 
field over with despairing eyes ; I see no hope but in 
Him. This movement must and will become a purely 
religious one. The light will spread in churches, the 
tone of feeling will rise, Christians North and South 
will give up all connection with, and take up their tes- 
timony against, slavery, and thus the work will be 

This letter gives us a conception of the state of 
moral and religious exaltation of the heart and mind 
out of which flowed chapter after chapter of that won- 
derful story. It all goes to prove the correctness of 
the position from which we started, that " Uncle Tom's 
Cabin " came from the heart rather than the head. It 
was an outburst of deep feeling, a cry in the darkness. 
The writer no more thought of style or literary excel- 
lence than the mother who rushes into the street and 
cries for help to save her children from a burning 
house thinks of the teachings of the rhetorician or the 

A few years afterwards Mrs. Stowe, writing of this 


story, said, " This story is to show how Jesus Christ, 
who liveth and was dead, and now is alive and forever- 
more, has still a mother's love for the poor and lowly, 
and that no man can sink so low but that Jesus Christ 
will stoop to take his hand. Who so low, who so poor, 
who so despised as the American slave ? The law 
almost denies his existence as a person, and regards 
him for the most part as less than a man — a mere 
thing, the property of another. The law forbids him 
to read or write, to hold property, to make a contract, 
or even to form a legal marriage. It takes from him 
all legal right to the wife of his bosom, the children of 
his body. He can do nothing, possess nothing, acquire 
nothing, but what must belong to his master. Yet 
even to this slave Jesus Christ stoops, from where he 
sits at the right hand of the Father, and says, ' Fear 
not, thou whom man despiseth, for I am thy brother. 
Fear not, for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee 
by thy name, thou art mine.' " 

" Uncle Tom's Cabin " is a work of religion ; the 
fundamental principles of the gospel applied to the 
burning question of negro slavery. It sets forth those 
principles of the Declaration of Independence that 
made Jefferson, Hamilton, Washington, and Patrick 
Henry anti-slavery men ; not in the language of the 
philosopher, but in a series of pictures. Mrs. Stowe 
spoke to the understanding and moral sense through 
the imagination. 

" Uncle Tom's Cabin " made the enforcement of the 
Fugitive Slave Law an impossibility. It aroused the 
public sentiment of the world by arousing in the con- 
crete that which had been a mere series of abstract 


propositions. It was, as we have already said, an ap- 
peal to the imagination through a series of pictures. 
People are like children, and understand pictures better 
than words. Some one rushes into your dining-room 
while you are at breakfast and cries out, " Terrible 
railroad accident, forty killed and wounded, six were 
burned alive." 

" Oh, shocking ! dreadful ! " you exclaim, and yet 
go quietly on with your rolls and coffee. But suppose 
you stood at that instant by the wreck, and saw the 
mangled dead, and heard the piercing shrieks of the 
wounded, you would be faint and dizzy with the intol- 
erable spectacle. 

So " Uncle Tom's Cabin " made the crack of the 
slavedriver's whip, and the cries of the tortured blacks 
ring in every household in the land, till human hearts 
could endure it no longer. 



" Uncle Tom's Cabin " as a Serial in the " National Era." — An 
Offer for its Publication in Book Form. — Will it be a 
Success ? — An Unprecedented Circulation. — Congratula- 
tory Messages. — Kind Words from Abroad. — Mrs. Stowe 
to the Earl of Carlisle. — Letters from and to Lord 
Shaftesbury. — Correspondence with Arthur Helps. 

The wonderful story that was begun in the " Na- 
tional Era," June 5, 1851, and was announced to run 
for about three months, was not completed in that 
paper until April 1, 1852. It had been contemplated 
as a mere magazine tale of perhaps a dozen chapters, 
but once begun it could no more be controlled than the 
waters of the swollen Mississippi, bursting through a 
crevasse in its levees. The intense interest excited by 
the story, the demands made upon the author for more 
facts, the unmeasured words of encouragement to keep 
on in her good work that poured in from all sides, and 
above all the ever-growing conviction that she had been 
intrusted with a great and holy mission, compelled her 
to keep on until the humble tale had assumed the pro- 
portions of a volume prepared to stand among the most 
notable books in the world. As Mrs. Stowe has since 
repeatedly said, "I could not control the story; it 
wrote itself ; " or "I the author of * Uncle Tom's 
Cabin ' ? No, indeed. The Lord himself wrote it, 
and I was but the humblest of instruments in his hand. 
To Him alone should be given all the praise." 


Although the publication of the " National Era " has 
been long since suspended, the journal was in those 
days one of decided literary merit and importance. On 
its title-page, with the name of Dr. Gamaliel Bailey as 
editor, appeared that of John Greenleaf Whittier as 
corresponding editor. In its columns Mrs. Southworth 
made her first literary venture, while Alice and Phoebe 
Cary, Grace Greenwood, and a host of other well-known 
names were published with that of Mrs. Stowe, which 
appeared last of all in its prospectus for 1851. 

Before the conclusion of " Uncle Tom's Cabin " Mrs. 
Stowe had so far outstripped her contemporaries that 
her work was pronounced by competent judges to be 
the most powerful production ever contributed to the 
magazine literature of this country, and she stood in 
the foremost rank of American writers. 

After finishing her story Mrs. Stowe penned the fol- 
lowing appeal to its more youthful readers, and its serial 
publication was concluded : — 

" The author of ' Uncle Tom's Cabin ' must now take 
leave of a wide circle of friends whose faces she has 
never seen, but whose sympathies coming to her from 
afar have stimulated and cheered her in her work. 

" The thought of the pleasant family circles that she 
has been meeting in spirit week after week has been a 
constant refreshment to her, and she cannot leave them 
without a farewell. 

" In particular the dear children who have followed 
her story have her warmest love. Dear children, you 
will soon be men and women, and I hope that you will 
learn from this story always to remember and pity the 
poor and oppressed. When you grow up, show your 


pity by doing all you can for them. Never, if you can 
help it, let a colored child be shut out from school or 
treated with neglect and contempt on account of his 
color. Remember the sweet example of little Eva, and 
try to feel the same regard for all that she did. Then, 
when you grow up, I hope the foolish and unchristian 
prejudice against people merely on account of their 
complexion will be done away with. 

" Farewell, dear children, until we meet again." 

With the completion of the story the editor of the 
" Era " wrote : " Mrs. Stowe has at last brought her 
great work to a close. We do not recollect any pro- 
duction of an American writer that has excited more 
general and profound interest." 

For the story as a serial the author received $300. 
In the mean time, however, it had attracted the atten- 
tion of Mr. John P. Jewett, a Boston publisher, who 
promptly made overtures for its publication in book 
form. He offered Mr. and Mrs. Stowe a half share in 
the profits, provided they would share with him the ex- 
pense of publication. This was refused by Professor 
Stowe, who said he was altogether too poor to assume 
any such risk ; and the agreement finally made was that 
the author should receive a ten per cent, royalty upon 
all sales. 

Mrs. Stowe had no reason to hope for any large 
pecuniary gain from this publication, for it was practi- 
cally her first book. To be sure, she had, in 1832, pre- 
pared a small school geography for a Western publisher, 
and ten years later the Harpers had brought out her 
" Mayflower." Still, neither of these had been suffi- 
ciently remunerative to cause her to regard literary work 


as a money-making business, and in regard to this new 
contract she writes : " I did not know until a week after- 
ward precisely what terms Mr. Stowe had made, and I 
did not care. I had the most perfect indifference to 
the bargain." 

The agreement was signed March 13, 1852, and, as 
by arrangement with the " National Era " the book 
publication of the story was authorized before its com- 
pletion as a serial, the first edition of five thousand 
copies was issued on the twentieth of the same month. 

In looking over the first semi-annual statement pre- 
sented by her publishers we find Mrs. Stowe charged, 
a few days before the date of publication of her book, 
with " one copy U. T. C. cloth $.56," and this was the 
first copy of " Uncle Tom's Cabin " ever sold in book 
form. Five days earlier we find her charged with one 
copy of Horace Mann's speeches. In writing of this 
critical period of her life Mrs. Stowe says : — 

" After sending the last proof-sheet to the office I 
sat alone reading Horace Mann's eloquent plea for these 
young men and women, then about to be consigned to 
the slave warehouse of Bruin & Hill in Alexandria, Va., 
— a plea impassioned, eloquent, but vain, as all other 
pleas on that side had ever proved in all courts hitherto. 
It seemed that there was no hope, that nobody would 
hear, nobody would read, nobody pity ; that this fright- 
ful system, that had already pursued its victims into 
the free States, might at last even threaten them in 
Canada." ' 

Filled with this fear, she determined to do all that 

1 Introduction to Illustrated Edition of Uncle Tom, p. xiii. (Hough- 
ton, Osgood & Co., 1879.) 


one woman might to enlist the sympathies of England 
for the cause, and to avert, even as a remote contin- 
gency, the closing of Canada as a haven of refuge for 
the oppressed. To this end she at once wrote letters 
to Prince Albert, to the Duke of Argyll, to the Earls 
of Carlisle and Shaftesbury, to Macaulay, Dickens, and 
others whom she knew to be interested in the cause of 
anti-slavery. These she ordered to be sent to their 
several addresses, accompanied by the very earliest 
copies of her book that should be printed. 

Then, having done what she could, and committed 
the result to God, she calmly turned her attention to 
other affairs. 

In the mean time the fears of the author as to whether 
or not her book would be read were quickly dispelled. 
Three thousand copies were sold the very first day, a 
second edition was issued the following week, a third on 
the 1st of April, and within a year one hundred and 
twenty editions, or over three hundred thousand copies 
of the book, had been issued and sold in this country. 
Almost in a day the poor professor's wife had become 
the most talked-of woman in the world, her influence for 
good was spreading to its remotest corners, and hence- 
forth she was to be a public character, whose every 
movement would be watched with interest, and whose 
every word would be quoted. The long, weary struggle 
with poverty was to be hers no longer ; for, in seeking 
to aid the oppressed, she had also so aided herself that 
within four months from the time her book was pub- 
lished it had yielded her $10,000 in royalties. 

Now letters regarding the wonderful book, and ex- 
pressing all shades of* opinion concerning it, began to 



J i 


. ' 








1 M 

1 i -IMS * i 1 11 .a 


pour in upon the author. Her lifelong friend, whose 
words we have already so often quoted, wrote : — 

" I sat up last night until long after one o'clock read- 
ing and finishing * Uncle Tom's Cabin.' I could not 
leave it any more than I could have left a dying child, 
nor could I restrain an almost hysterical sobbing for an 
hour after I laid my head upon my pillow. I thought 
I was a thorough-going abolitionist before, but your 
book has awakened so strong a feeling of indignation 
and of compassion that I never seem to have had any 
feeling on this subject until now." 

The poet Longfellow wrote : — 

I congratulate you most cordially upon the immense 
success and influence of " Uncle Tom's Cabin." It is 
one of the greatest triumphs recorded in literary his- 
tory, to say nothing of the higher triumph of its moral 

With great regard, and friendly remembrance to Mr. 
Stowe, I remain, 

Yours most truly, 

Henry W. Longfellow. 

Whittier wrote to Garrison : — 

" What a glorious work Harriet Beecher Stowe has 
wrought. Thanks for the Fugitive Slave Law ! Better 
would it be for slavery if that law had never been en- 
acted ; for it gave occasion for ' Uncle Tom's Cabin.' ' 

Garrison wrote to Mrs. Stowe : — 

" I estimate the value of anti-slavery writing by the 
abuse it brings. Now all the defenders of slavery have 
let me alone and are abusing you." 


To Mrs. Stowe, Whittier wrote : — 

Ten thousand thanks for thy immortal book. My 
young friend Mary Irving (of the " Era ") writes me 
that she has been reading it to some twenty young 
ladies, daughters of Louisiana slaveholders, near New 
Orleans, and amid the scenes described in it, and that 
they, with one accord, pronounce it true. 
Truly thy friend, 

John G. Whittier. 

From Thomas Wentworth Higginson came the fol- 
lowing : — 

To have written at once the most powerful of con- 
temporary fiction and the most efficient of anti-slavery 
tracts is a double triumph in literature and philan- 
thropy, to which this country has heretofore seen no 

Yours respectfully and gratefully, 

T. W. Higginson. 

A few days after the publication of the book, Mrs. 
Stowe, writing from Boston to her husband in Bruns- 
wick, says : " I have been in such a whirl ever since I 
have been here. I found business prosperous. Jewett 
animated. He has been to Washington and conversed 
with all the leading senators, Northern and Southern. 
Seward told him it was the greatest book of the times, 
or something of that sort, and he and Sumner went 
around with him to recommend it to Southern men and 
get them to read it." 


It is true that with these congratulatory and com- 
mendatory letters came hosts of others, threatening and 
insulting, from the Haleys and Legrees of the country. 

Of them Mrs. Stowe said : " They were so curiously 
compounded of blasphemy, cruelty, and obscenity, that 
their like could only be expressed by John Bunyan's 
account of the speech of Apollyon : ' He spake as a 
dragon.' " 

A correspondent of the " National Era " wrote : 
" ' Uncle Tom's Cabin ' is denounced by time-serving 
preachers as a meretricious work. Will you not come 
out in defense of it and roll back the tide of vitupera- 

To this the editor answered : " We should as soon 
think of coming out in defense of Shakespeare." 

Several attempts were made in the South to write 
books controverting " Uncle Tom's Cabin," and show- 
ing a much brighter side of the slavery question, but 
they all fell flat and were left unread. Of one of 
them, a clergyman of Charleston, S. C, wrote in a pri- 
vate letter : — 

" I have read two columns in the l Southern Press ' 
of Mrs. Eastman's * Aunt Phillis' Cabin, or Southern 
Life as it is,' with the remarks of the editor. I have 
no comment to make on it, as that is done by itself. 
The editor might have saved himself being writ down 
an ass by the public if he had withheld his nonsense. 
If the two columns are a fair specimen of Mrs. East- 
man's book, I pity her attempt and her name as an 

In due time Mrs. Stowe began to receive answers to 
the letters she had forwarded with copies of her book 


to prominent men in England, and these were without 
exception flattering and encouraging. Through his 
private secretary Prince Albert acknowledged with 
thanks the receipt of his copy, and promised to read it. 
Succeeding mails brought scores of letters from English 
men of letters and statesmen. Lord Carlisle wrote : — 

" I return my deep and solemn thanks to Almighty 
God who has led and enabled you to write such a book. 
I do feel indeed the most thorough assurance that in 
his good Providence such a book cannot have been 
written in vain. * I have long felt that slavery is by 
far the topping question of the world and age we live 
in, including all that is most thrilling in heroism and 
most touching in distress ; in short, the real epic of the 
universe. The self-interest of the parties most nearly 
concerned on the one hand, the apathy and ignorance 
of unconcerned observers on the other, have left these 
august pretensions to drop very much out of sight. 
Hence my rejoicing that a writer has appeared who 
will be read and must be felt, and that happen what 
may to the transactions of slavery they will no longer 
be suppressed." 

To this letter, of which but an extract has been 
given, Mrs. Stowe sent the following reply : — 

My Lord, — It is not with the common pleasure of 
gratified authorship that I say how much I am gratified 
by the receipt of your very kind communication with 
regard to my humble efforts in the cause of humanity. 
The subject is one so grave, so awful — the success of 
what I have written has been so singular and so unex- 
pected — that I can scarce retain a self-consciousness 


and am constrained to look upon it all as the work of a 
Higher Power, who, when He pleases, can accomplish 
his results by the feeblest instruments. I am glad of 
anything which gives notoriety to the book, because it 
is a plea for the dumb and the helpless ! I am glad 
particularly of notoriety in England because I see with 
what daily increasing power England's opinion is to act 
on this country. No one can tell but a native born 
here by what an infinite complexity of ties, nerves, and 
ligaments this terrible evil is bound in one body politic ; 
how the slightest touch upon it causes even the free 
States to thrill and shiver, what a terribly corrupting 
and tempting power it has upon the conscience and 
moral sentiment even of a free community. Nobody 
can tell the thousand ways in which by trade, by fam- 
ily affinity, or by political expediency, the free part of 
our country is constantly tempted to complicity with 
the slaveholding part. It is a terrible thing to become 
used to hearing the enormities of slavery, to hear of 
things day after day that one would think the sun 
should hide his face from, and yet, to get used to them, 
to discusss them coolly, to dismiss them coolly. For 
example, the sale of intelligent, handsome colored 
females for vile purposes, facts of the most public 
nature, have made this a perfectly understood matter 
in our Northern States. I have now, myself, under 
charge and educating, two girls of whose character any 
mother might be proud, who have actually been res- 
cued from this sale in the New Orleans market. 

I desire to inclose a tract x in which I sketched down 
a few incidents in the history of the family to which 

1 Afterwards embodied in the Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin. 


these girls belong ; it will show more than words can 
the kind of incident to which I allude. The tract is 
not a published document, only printed to assist me in 
raising money, and it would not, at present, be for the 
good of the parties to have it published even in Eng- 

But though these things are known in the free 
States, and other things, if possible, worse, yet there is 
a terrible deadness of moral sense. They are known 
by clergymen who yet would not on any account so far 
commit themselves as to preach on the evils of slavery, 
or pray for the slaves in their pulpits. They are 
known by politicians who yet give their votes for slav- 
ery extension and perpetuation. 

This year both our great leading parties voted to 
suppress all agitation of the subject, and in both those 
parties were men who knew personally facts of slavery 
and the internal slave-trade that one would think no 
man could ever forget. Men united in pledging them- 
selves to the Fugitive Slave Law, who yet would tell 
you in private conversation that it was an abomination, 
and who do not hesitate to say, that as a matter of 
practice they always help the fugitive because they 
can't do otherwise. 

The moral effect of this constant insincerity, the 
moral effect of witnessing and becoming accustomed to 
the most appalling forms of crime and oppression, is to 
me the most awful and distressing part of the subject. 
Nothing makes me feel it so painfully as to see with 
how much more keenness the English feel the disclos- 
ures of my book than the Americans. I myself am 
blunted by use — by seeing, touching, handling the 


details. In dealing even for the ransom of slaves, in 
learning market prices of men, women, and children, I 
feel that I acquire a horrible familiarity with evil. 

Here, then, the great, wise, and powerful mind of 
England, if she will but fully master the subject, may 
greatly help us. Hers is the same kind of mind as our 
our own, but disembarrassed from our temptations and 
unnerved by the thousands of influences that blind and 
deaden us. There is a healthful vivacity of moral feel- 
ing on this subject that must electrify our paralyzed 
vitality. For this reason, therefore, I rejoice when I 
see minds like your lordship's turning to this subject ; 
and I feel an intensity of emotion, as if I could say, Do 
not for Christ's sake let go ; you know not what you 
may do. 

Your lordship will permit me to send you two of the 
most characteristic documents of the present struggle, 
written by two men who are, in their way, as eloquent 
for the slave as Chatham was for us in our hour of 

I am now preparing some additional notes to my 
book, in which I shall further confirm what I have 
said by facts and statistics, and in particular by ex- 
tracts from the codes of slaveholding States, and the 
records of their courts. These are documents that 
cannot be disputed, and I pray your lordship to give 
them your attention. No disconnected facts can be so 
terrible as these legal decisions. They will soon appear 
in England. 

It is so far from being irrelevant for England to 
notice slavery that I already see indications that this 
subject, on both sides, is yet to be presented there, and 


the battle fought on English ground. I see that my 
friend the South Carolinian gentleman has sent to 
" Fraser's Magazine " an article, before published in 
this country, on " Uncle Tom's Cabin." The article in 
the London " Times " was eagerly reprinted in this 
country, was issued as a tract and sold by the hundred, 
headed, " What they think of < Uncle Tom ' in Eng- 
land." If I mistake not, a strong effort will be made 
to pervert the public mind of England, and to do away 
the impression which the book has left. 

For a time after it was issued it seemed to go by 
acclamation. From quarters the most unexpected, from 
all political parties, came an almost unbroken chorus of 
approbation. I was very much surprised, knowing the 
explosive nature of the subject. It was not till the 
sale had run to over a hundred thousand copies that 
reaction began, and the reaction was led off by the 
London " Times." Instantly, as by a preconcerted sig- 
nal, all papers of a certain class began to abuse ; and 
some who had at first issued articles entirely commen- 
datory, now issued others equally depreciatory. Reli- 
gious papers, notably the " New York Observer," came 
out and denounced the book as anti-Christian, anti- 
evangelical, resorting even to personal slander on the 
author as a means of diverting attention from the work. 

All this has a meaning, but I think it comes too 
late. I can think of no reason why it was not tried 
sooner, excepting that God had intended that the cause 
should have a hearing. It is strange that they should 
have waited so long for the political effect of a book 
which they might have foreseen at first ; but not 
strange that they should, now they do see what it is 
doing, attempt to root it up. 


The effects of the book so far have been, I think, 
these : 1st. To soften and moderate the bitterness of 
feeling in extreme abolitionists. 2d. To convert to 
abolitionist views many whom this same bitterness had 
repelled. 3d. To inspire the free colored people with 
self-respect, hope, and confidence. 4th. To inspire 
universally through the country a kindlier feeling to- 
ward the negro race. 

It was unfortunate for the cause of freedom that the 
first agitators of this subject were of that class which 
your lordship describes in your note as " well-meaning 
men." I speak sadly of their faults, for they were 
men of noble hearts. " But oppression maketh a wise 
man mad" and they spoke and did many things in the 
frenzy of outraged humanity that repelled sympathy 
and threw multitudes off to a hopeless distance. It is 
mournful to think of all the absurdities that have been 
said and done in the name and for the sake of this 
holy cause, that have so long and so fatally retarded it. 

I confess that I expected for myself nothing but 
abuse from extreme abolitionists, especially as I dared 
to name a forbidden shibboleth, " Liberia," and the 
fact that the wildest and extremest abolitionists united 
with the coldest conservatives, at first, to welcome and 
advance the book is a thing that I have never ceased 
to wonder at. 

I have written this long letter because I am ex- 
tremely desirous that some leading minds in England 
should know how we stand. The subject is now on 
trial at the bar of a civilized world — a Christian 
world ! and I feel sure that God has not ordered this 
without a design. Yours for the cause, 

Harriet Beecher Stowe. 


In December the Earl of Shaftesbury wrote to Mrs. 
Stowe : — 

Madam, — It is very possible that the writer of this 
letter may be wholly unknown to you. But whether 
my name be familiar to your ears, or whether you now 
read it for the first time, I cannot refrain from express- 
ing to you the deep gratitude that I feel to Almighty 
God who has inspired both your heart and your head 
in the composition of " Uncle Tom's Cabin." None 
but a Christian believer could have produced such a 
book as yours, which has absolutely startled the whole 
world, and impressed many thousands by revelations of 
cruelty and sin that give us an idea of what would be 
the uncontrolled dominion of Satan on this fallen earth. 

To this letter Mrs. Stowe replied as follows : — 

Andover, January 6, 1853. 

To the Earl of Shaftesbury: 

My Lord, — The few lines I have received from you 
are a comfort and an encouragement to me, feeble as 
I now am in health, and pressed oftentimes with sor- 
rowful thoughts. 

It is a comfort to know that in other lands there 
are those who feel as we feel, and who are looking with 
simplicity to the gospel of Jesus, and prayerfully hop- 
ing his final coming. 

My lord, before you wrote me I read with deep 
emotion your letter to the ladies of England, and sub- 
sequently the noble address of the Duchess of Suther- 
land, and I could not but feel that such movements, 


originating in such a quarter, prompted by a spirit so 
devout and benevolent, were truly of God, and must 
result in a blessing to the world. 

I grieve to see that both in England and this coun- 
try there are those who are entirely incapable of appre- 
ciating the Christian and truly friendly feeling that 
prompted this movement, and that there are even those 
who meet it with coarse personalities such as I had not 
thought possible in an English or American paper. 

When I wrote my work it was in simplicity and in 
the love of Christ, and if I felt anything that seemed 
to me like a call to undertake it, it was this, that I had 
a true heart of love for the Southern people, a feeling 
appreciation of their trials, and a sincere admiration of 
their many excellent traits, and that I thus felt, I 
think, must appear to every impartial reader of the 

It was my hope that a book so kindly intended, so 
favorable in many respects, might be permitted free 
circulation among them, and that the gentle voice of 
Eva and the manly generosity of St. Clare might be 
allowed to say those things of the system which would 
be invidious in any other form. 

At first the book seemed to go by acclamation ; the 
South did not condemn, and the North was loud and 
unanimous in praise ; not a dissenting voice was raised ; 
to my astonishment everybody praised. But when the 
book circulated so widely and began to penetrate the 
Southern States, when it began to be perceived how 
powerfully it affected every mind that read it, there 
came on a reaction. 

Answers, pamphlets, newspaper attacks came thick 


and fast, and certain Northern papers, religious, — so 
called, — turned and began to denounce the work as un- 
christian, heretical, etc. The reason of all this is that 
it has been seen that the book has a direct tendency 
to do what it was written for, — to awaken conscience 
in the slaveholding States and lead to emancipation. 

Now there is nothing that Southern political leaders 
and capitalists so dread as anti-slavery feeling among 
themselves. All the force of lynch law is employed to 
smother discussion and blind conscience on this ques- 
tion. The question is not allowed to be discussed, and 
he who sells a book or publishes a tract makes himself 
liable to fine and imprisonment. 

My book is, therefore, as much under an interdict 
in some parts of the South as the Bible is in Italy. It 
is not allowed in the bookstores, and the greater part 
of the people hear of it and me only through grossly 
caricatured representations in the papers, with garbled 
extracts from the book. 

A cousin residing in Georgia this winter says that 
the prejudice against my name is so strong that she 
dares not have it appear on the outside of her letters, 
and that very amiable and excellent people have asked 
her if such as I could be received into reputable society 
at the North. 

Under these circumstances, it is a matter of partic- 
ular regret that the " New York Observer," an old and 
long-established religious paper in the United States, 
extensively read at the South, should have come out 
in such a bitter and unscrupulous style of attack as 
even to induce some Southern papers, with a generosity 
one often finds at the South, to protest against it. 

MRS. 8 TO WW S REPLY. 173 

That they should use their Christian character and 
the sacred name of Christ still further to blind the 
minds and strengthen the prejudices of their Southern 
brethren is to me a matter of deepest sorrow. All 
those things, of course, cannot touch me in my private 
capacity, sheltered as I am by a happy home and very 
warm friends. I only grieve for it as a dishonor to 
Christ and a real injustice to many noble-minded peo- 
ple at the South, who, if they were allowed quietly and 
dispassionately to hear and judge, might be led to the 
best results. 

But, my lord, all this only shows us how strong is 
the interest we touch. All the wealth of America 
may be said to be interested in it. And, if I may judge 
from the furious and bitter tone of some English papers, 
they also have some sensitive connection with the evil. 

I trust that those noble and gentle ladies of Eng- 
land who have in so good a spirit expressed their views 
of the question will not be discouraged by the strong 
abuse that will follow. England is doing us good. We 
need the vitality of a disinterested country to warm our 
torpid and benumbed public sentiment. 

Nay, the storm of feeling which the book raises in 
Italy, Germany, and France is all good, though truly 
't is painful for us Americans to bear. The fact is, we 
have become used to this frightful evil, and we need 
the public sentiment of the world to help us. 

I am now writing a work to be called " Key to Uncle 
Tom's Cabin." It contains, in an undeniable form, the 
facts which corroborate all that I have said. One third 
of it is taken up with judicial records of trials and 
decisions, and with statute law. It is a most fearful 


story, my lord, — I can truly say that I write with life- 
blood, but as called of God. I give in my evidence, 
and I hope that England may so fix the attention of the 
world on the facts of which I am the unwilling pub- 
lisher, that the Southern States may be compelled to 
notice what hitherto they have denied and ignored. If 
they call the fiction dreadful, what will they say of the 
fact, where I cannot deny, suppress, or color ? But it 
is God's will that it must be told, and I am the unwill- 
ing agent. 

This coming month of April, my husband and my- 
self expect to sail for England on the invitation of the 
Anti-Slavery Society of the Ladies and Gentlemen of 
Glasgow, to confer with friends there. 

There are points where English people can do much 
good ; there are also points where what they seek to do 
may be made more efficient by a little communion with 
those who know the feelings and habits of our country- 
men : but I am persuaded that England can do much 
for us. 

My lord, they greatly mistake who see, in this move- 
ment of English Christians for the abolition of slavery, 
signs of disunion between the nations. It is the purest 
and best proof of friendship England has ever shown 
us, and will, I am confident, be so received. I earnestly 
trust that all who have begun to take in hand the cause 
will be in nothing daunted, but persevere to the end ; 
for though everything else be against us, Christ is cer- 
tainly on our side and He must at last prevail, and it 
will be done, " not by might, nor by power, but by His 
Spirit." Yours in Christian sincerity, 

H. B. Stowb. 


Mrs. Stowe also received a letter from Arthur Helps ' 
accompanying a review of her work written by himself 
and published in " Fraser's Magazine." In his letter 
Mr. Helps took exception to the comparison instituted 
in " Uncle Tom's Cabin " between the working-classes 
of England and the slaves of America. In her answer 
to this criticism and complaint Mrs. Stowe says : — 

Mr. Arthur Helps : 

My dear Sir, — I cannot but say I am greatly 
obliged to you for the kind opinions expressed in your 
letter. On one point, however, it appears that my book 
has not faithfully represented to you the feelings of my 
heart. I mean in relation to the English nation as a 
nation. You will notice that the remarks on that sub- 
ject occur in the dramatic part of the book, in the 
mouth of an intelligent Southerner. As a fair-minded 
person, bound to state for both sides all that could be 
said in the person of St. Clare, the best that could be 
said on that point, and what I know is in fact con- 
stantly reiterated, namely, that the laboring class of 
the South are in many respects, as to physical comfort, 
in a better condition than the poor of England. 

This is the slaveholder's stereotyped apology, — a 
defense it cannot be, unless two wrongs make one right. 

It is generally supposed among us that this estimate 
of the relative condition of the slaves and the poor of 
England is correct, and we base our ideas on reports 
made in Parliament and various documentary evidence ; 
also such sketches as " London Labor and London Poor," 
which have been widely circulated among us. The in- 

1 Author of Spanish Conquest in America. — Ed. 


ference, however, which we of the freedom party draw 
from it, is not that the slave is, on the whole, in the 
best condition because of this striking difference ; that 
in America the slave has not a recognized human char- 
acter in law, has not even an existence, whereas in Eng- 
land the law recognizes and protects the meanest sub- 
ject, in theory always, and in fact to a certain extent. 
A prince of the blood could not strike the meanest 
laborer without a liability to prosecution, in theory at 
least, and that is something. In America any man 
may strike any slave he meets, and if the master does 
not choose to notice it, he has no redress. 

I do not suppose human nature to be widely different 
in England and America. In both countries, when any 
class holds power and wealth by institutions which in 
the long run bring misery on lower classes, they are 
very unwilling still to part with that wealth and power. 
They are unwilling to be convinced that it is their duty, 
and unwilling to do it if they are. It is always so 
everywhere ; it is not English nature or American nature, 
but human nature. We have seen in England the bat- 
tle for popular rights fought step by step with as de- 
termined a resistance from parties in possession as the 
slaveholder offers in America. 

There was the same kind of resistance in certain quar- 
ters there to the laws restricting the employing of young 
children eighteen hours a day in factories, as there is 
here to the anti-slavery effort. 

Again, in England as in America, there are, in those 
very classes whose interests are most invaded by what 
are called popular rights, some of the most determined 
supporters of them, and here I think that the balance 


preponderates in favor of England. I think there are 
more of the high nobility of England who are friends 
of the common people and willing to help the cause of 
human progress, irrespective of its influence on their own 
interests, than there are those of a similar class among 
slaveholding aristocracy, though even that class is not 
without such men. But I am far from having any of 
that senseless prejudice against the English nation as a 
nation which, greatly to my regret, I observe sometimes 
in America. It is a relic of barbarism for two such 
nations as England and America to cherish any such 
unworthy prejudice. 

For my own part, I am proud to be of English blood ; 
and though I do not think England's national course 
faultless, and though I think many of her institutions 
and arrangements capable of much revision and im- 
provement, yet my heart warms to her as, on the whole, 
the strongest, greatest, and best nation on earth. Have 
not England and America one blood, one language, 
one literature, and a glorious literature it is ! Are not 
Milton and Shakespeare, and all the wise and brave 
and good of old, common to us both, and should there 
be anything but cordiality between countries that have 
so glorious an inheritance in common ? If there is, it 
will be elsewhere than in hearts like mine. 
Sincerely yours, 

H. B. Stowe. 



The Edmondsons. — Buying Slaves to set them Free. — Jenny 
Lind. — Professor Stowe is called to Andover. — Fitting 
up the New Home. — The " Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin." — 
" Uncle Tom " Abroad. — How it was Published in Eng- 
land. — Preface to the European Edition. — The Book in 
France. — In Germany. — A Greeting from Charles Kingsley. 
— Preparing to visit Scotland. — Letter to Mrs. Follen. 

Very soon after the publication of " Uncle Tom's 
Cabin " Mrs. Stowe visited her brother Henry in Brook- 
lyn, and while there became intensely interested in the 
case of the Edmondsons, a slave family of Washington, 
D. C. Emily and Mary two of the daughters of Paul 
(a free colored man) and Milly (a slave) Edmondson, 
had, for trying to escape from bondage, been sold to a 
trader for the New Orleans market. While they were 
lying in jail in Alexandria awaiting the making up of 
a gang for the South, their heartbroken father deter- 
mined to visit the North and try to beg from a free- 
dom-loving people the money with which to purchase 
his daughters' liberty. The sum asked by the trader 
was $2,250, but its magnitude did not appall the brave 
old man, and he set forth upon his quest full of faith 
that in some way he would secure it. 

Reaching New York, he went to the anti-slavery 
bureau and related his pitiful story. The sum de- 
manded was such a large one and seemed so exorbi- 


tant'that even those who took the greatest interest in 
the case were disheartened over the propect of raising 
it. The old man was finally advised to go to Henry 
Ward Beecher and ask his aid. He made his way to 
the door of the great Brooklyn preacher's house, but, 
overcome by many disappointments and fearing to meet 
with another rebuff, hesitated to ring the bell, and sat 
down on the steps with tears streaming from his eyes. 

There Mr. Beecher found him, learned his story, and 
promised to do what he could. There was a great 
meeting in Plymouth Church that evening, and, taking 
the old colored man with him to it, Mrs. Stowe's 
brother made such an eloquent and touching appeal on 
behalf of the slave girls as to rouse his audience to 
profound indignation and pity. The entire sum of 
$2,250 was raised then and there, and the old man, 
hardly able to realize his great joy, was sent back to his 
despairing children with their freedom money in his 

All this had happened in the latter part of 1848, and 
Mrs. Stowe had first known of the liberated girls in 
1851, when she had been appealed to for aid in edu- 
cating them. From that time forward she became per- 
sonally responsible for all their expenses while they 
remained in school, and until the death of one of them 
in 1853. 

Now during her visit to New York in the spring of 
1852 she met their old mother, Milly Edmondson, who 
had come North in the hope of saving her two remain- 
ing slave children, a girl and a young man, from falling 
into the trader's clutches. Twelve hundred dollars was 
the sum to be raised, and by hard work the father had 


laid by one hundred of it when a severe illness put an 
end to his efforts. After many prayers and much con- 
sideration of the matter, his feeble old wife said to him 
one day, " Paul, I' m a gwine up to New York myself 
to see if I can't get that money." 

Her husband objected that she was too feeble, that 
she would be unable to find her way, and that North- 
ern people had got tired of buying slaves to set them 
free, but the resolute old woman clung to her purpose 
and finally set forth. Reaching New York she made 
her way to Mr. Beecher's house, where she was so fortu- 
nate as to find Mrs. Stowe. Now her troubles were at 
an end, for this champion of the oppressed at once 
made the slave woman's cause her own and promised 
that her children should be redeemed. She at once set 
herself to the task of raising the purchase-money, not 
only for Milly's children, but for giving freedom to the 
old slave woman herself. On May 29, she writes to her 
husband in Brunswick : — 

" The mother of the Edmondson girls, now aged and 
feeble, is in the city. I did not actually know when I 
wrote ' Uncle Tom ' of a living example in which Chris- 
tianity had reached its fullest development under the 
crushing wrongs of slavery, but in this woman I see it. 
I never knew before what I could feel till, with her sor- 
rowful, patient eyes upon me, she told me her history 
and begged my aid. The expression of her face as she 
spoke, and the depth of patient sorrow in her eyes, was 
beyond anything I ever saw. 

" * Well,' said I, when she had finished, ' set yo'ur 
heart at rest ; you and your children shall be redeemed. 
If I can't raise the money otherwise, I will pay it my- 


self.' You should have seen the wonderfully sweet, 
solemn look she gave me as she said, ( The Lord bless 
you, my child ! ' 

" Well, I have received a sweet note from Jenny 
Lind, with her name and her husband's with which to 
head my subscription list. They give a hundred dol- 
lars. Another hundred is subscribed by Mr. Bo wen in 
his wife's name, and I have put my own name down for 
an equal amount. A lady has given me twenty-five 
dollars, and Mr. Storrs has pledged me fifty dollars. 
Milly and I are to meet the ladies of Henry's and Dr. 
Cox's churches to-morrow, and she is to tell them her 
story. I have written to Drs. Bacon and Dutton in 
New Haven to secure a similar meeting of ladies there. 
I mean to have one in Boston, and another in Port- 
land. It will do good to the givers as well as to the 

" But all this time I have been so longing to get 
your letter from New Haven, for I heard it was there. 
It is not fame nor praise that contents me. I seem 
never to have needed love so much as now. I Ions" to 
hear you say how much you love me. Dear one, if this 
effort impedes my journey home, and wastes some of 
my strength, you will not murmur. When I see this 
Christlike soul standing so patiently bleeding, yet for- 
giving, I feel a sacred call to be the helper of the help- 
less, and it is better that my own family do without me 
for a while longer than that this mother lose all. / 
must redeem her. 

" New Haven, June 2. My old woman's case pro- 
gresses gloriously. I am to see the ladies of this place 
to-morrow. Four hundred dollars were contributed by 


individuals in Brooklyn, and the ladies who took sub- 
scription papers at the meeting will undoubtedly raise 
two hundred dollars more." 

Before leaving New York, Mrs. Stowe gave Milly 
Edmondson her check for the entire sum necessary to 
purchase her own freedom and that of her children, 
and sent her home rejoicing. That this sum was made 
up to her by the generous contributions of those to 
whom she appealed is shown by a note written to her 
husband and dated July, 1852, in which she says : — 

" Had a very kind note from A. Lawrence inclosing 
a twenty-dollar gold-piece for the Edmondsons. Isa- 
bella's ladies gave me twenty-five dollars, so you see 
our check is more than paid already." 

Although during her visit in New York Mrs. Stowe 
made many new friends, and was overwhelmed with 
congratulations and praise of her book, the most pleas- 
ing incident of this time seems to have been an episto- 
latory interview with Jenny Lind (Goldschmidt). In 
writing of it to her husband she says : — 

" Well, we have heard Jenny Lind, and the affair 
was a bewildering dream of sweetness and beauty. 
Her face and movements are full of poetry and feeling. 
She has the artless grace of a little child, the poetic 
effect of a wood-nymph, is airy, light, and graceful. 

" We had first-rate seats, and how do you think we 
got them ? When Mr. Howard went early in the 
morning for tickets, Mr. Goldschmidt told him it was 
impossible to get any good ones, as they were all sold. 
Mr. Howard said he regretted that, on Mrs. Stowe's ac- 
count, as she was very desirous of hearing Jenny Lind. 
i Mrs. Stowe ! ' exclaimed Mr. Goldschmidt, ' the author 


of " Uncle Tom's Cabin " ? Indeed, she shall have a 
seat whatever happens ! ' 

" Thereupon he took his hat and went out, returning 
shortly with tickets for two of the best seats in the 
house, inclosed in an envelope directed to me in his 
wife's handwriting. Mr. Howard said he could have 
sold those tickets at any time during the day for ten 
dollars each. 

"To-day I sent a note of acknowledgment with a 
copy of my book. I am most happy to have seen her, 
for she is a noble creature." 

To this note the great singer wrote in answer : — 

My dear Madam, — Allow me to express my sin- 
cere thanks for your very kind letter, which I was very 
happy to receive. 

You must feel and know what a deep impression 
" Uncle Tom's Cabin " has made upon every heart that 
can feel for the dignity of human existence : so I with 
my miserable English would not even try to say a word 
about the great excellency of that most beautiful book, 
but I must thank you for the great joy I have felt over 
that book. 

Forgive me, my dear madam : it is a great liberty I 
take in thus addressing you, I know, but I have so 
wished to find an opportunity to pour out my thank- 
fulness in a few words to you that I cannot help this 
intruding. I have the feeling about " Uncle Tom's 
Cabin " that great changes will take place by and by, 
from the impression people receive out of it, and that 
the writer of that book can fall asleep to-day or to- 
morrow with the bright, sweet conscience of having 


been a strong means in the Creator's hand of operating 
essential good in one of the most important questions 
for the welfare of our black brethren. God bless and 
protect you and yours, dear madam, and certainly God's 
hand will remain with a blessing over your head. 

Once more forgive my bad English and the liberty 
I have taken, and believe me to be, dear madam, 
Yours most truly, 

Jenny Goldschmidt, nee Lind. 

In answer to Mrs. Stowe's appeal on behalf of the 
Edmonsons, Jenny Lind wrote : — 

My dear Mrs. Stowe, — I have with great interest 
read your statement of the black family at Washing- 
ton. It is with pleasure also that I and my husband 
are placing our humble names on the list you sent. 

The time is short. I am very, very sorry that I shall 
not be able to see you. I must say farewell to you in 
this way. Hoping that in the length of time you may 
live to witness the progression of the good sake for 
which you so nobly have fought, my best wishes go 
with you. Yours in friendship, 

Jenny Goldschmidt. 

While Mrs. Stowe was thus absent from home, her 
husband received and accepted a most urgent call to 
the Professorship of Sacred Literature in the Theolog- 
ical Seminary at Andover, Mass. 

In regard to leaving Brunswick and her many 
friends there, Mrs. Stowe wrote : " For my part, if I 
must leave Brunswick, I would rather leave at once. I 

"THE cabin: 1 185 

can tear away with a sudden pull more easily than to 
linger there knowing: that I am to leave at last. I 
shall never find people whom I shall like better than 
those of Brunswick." 

As Professor Stowe's engagements necessitated his 
spending much of the summer in Brunswick, and also 
making a journey to Cincinnati, it devolved upon his 
wife to remain in Andover, and superintend the prepa- 
ration of the house they were to occupy. This was 
known as the old stone workshop, on the west side of 
the Common, and it had a year or two before been 
fitted up by Charles Munroe and Jonathan Edwards 1 
as the Seminary gymnasium. Beneath Mrs. Stowe's 
watchful care and by the judicious expenditure of 
money, it was transformed by the first of November 
into the charming; abode which under the name of 
" The Cabin " became noted as one of the pleasantest 
literary centres of the country. Here for many years 
were received, and entertained in a modest way, many 
of the most distinguished people of this and other 
lands, and here were planned innumerable philanthropic 
undertakings in which Mrs. Stowe and her scholarly 
husband were the prime movers. 

The summer spent in preparing this home was one 
of great pleasure as well as literary activity. In July 
Mrs. Stowe writes to her husband : " I had no idea this 
place was so beautiful. Our family circle is charming. 
All the young men are so gentlemanly and so agree- 
able, as well as Christian in spirit. Mr. Dexter, his 
wife, and sister are delightful. Last evening a party 
of us went to ride on horseback down to Pomp's Pond. 

1 Students in the Seminary. 


What a beautiful place it is ! There is everything here 
that there is at Brunswick except the sea, — a great ex- 
ception. Yesterday I was out all the forenoon sketch- 
ing elms. There is no end to the beauty of these trees. 
I shall fill my book with them before I get through. 
We had a levee at Professor Park's last week, — quite a 
brilliant affair. To-day there is to be a fishing party 
to go to Salem beach and have a chowder. 

" It seems almost too good to be true that we are 
going to have such a house in such a beautiful place, 
and to live here among all these agreeable people, 
where everybody seems to love you so much and to 
think so much of you. I am almost afraid to accept it, 
and should not, did I not see the Hand that gives it all 
and know that it is both firm and true. He knows if 
it is best for us, and His blessing addeth no sorrow 
therewith. I cannot describe to you the constant un- 
dercurrent of love and joy and peace ever flowing 
through my soul. I am so happy — so blessed ! " 

The literary work of this summer was directed to- 
ward preparing articles on many subjects for the " New 
York Independent " and the " National Era," as well 
as collecting material for future books. That the 
" Pearl of Orr's Island," which afterward appeared as a 
serial in the " Independent," was already contemplated, 
is shown by a letter written July 29th, in which Mrs. 
Stowe says : " What a lovely place Andover is ! So 
many beautiful walks ! Last evening a number of us 
climbed Prospect Hill, and had a most charming walk. 
Since I came here we have taken up hymn-singing to 
quite an extent, and while we were all up on the hill 
we sang l When I can read my title clear.' It went 


" I seem to have so much to fill my time, and yet 
there is my Maine story waiting. However, I am com- 
posing it every day, only I greatly need living studies 
for the filling in of my sketches. There is i old Jonas,' 
my * fish father,' a sturdy, independent fisherman 
farmer, who in his youth sailed all over the world and 
made up his mind about everything. In his old age 
he attends prayer-meetings and reads the ' Missionary 
Herald.' He also has plenty of money in an old brown 
sea-chest. He is a great heart with an inflexible will 
and iron muscles. I must go to Orr's Island and see 
him again. I am now writing an article for the c Era ' 
on Maine and its scenery, which I think is even better 
than the ' Independent ' letter. In it I took up Long- 
fellow. Next I shall write one on Hawthorne and his 

" To-day Mrs. Jewett sent out a most solemnly sav- 
age attack upon me from the ' Alabama Planter/ 
Among other things it says : ' The plan for assaulting 
the best institutions in the world may be made just as 
rational as it is by the wicked (perhaps unconsciously 
so) authoress of this book. The woman who wrote it 
must be either a very bad or a very fanatical person. 
For her own domestic peace we trust no enemy will 
ever penetrate into her household to pervert the scenes 
he may find there with as little logic or kindness as she 
has used in her " Uncle Tom's Cabin." ' There 's for 
you ! Can you wonder now that such a wicked woman 
should be gone from you a full month instead of the 
week I intended ? Ah, welladay ! " 

At last the house was finished, the removal from 
Brunswick effected, and the reunited family was com- 


fortably settled in its Andover home. The plans for 
the winter's literary work were, however, altered by 
force of circumstances. Instead of proceeding quietly 
and happily with her charming Maine story, Mrs. Stowe 
found it necessary to take notice in some manner of 
the cruel and incessant attacks made upon her as the 
author of " Uncle Tom's Cabin," and to fortify herself 
against them by a published statement of incontroverti- 
ble facts. It was claimed on all sides that she had in 
her famous book made such ignorant or malicious mis- 
representations that it was nothing short of a tissue of 
falsehoods, and to refute this she was compelled to 
write a " Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin," in which should 
appear the sources from which she had obtained her 
knowledge. Late in the winter Mrs. Stowe wrote : — 

" I am now very much driven. I am preparing a 
Key to unlock ' Uncle Tom's Cabin.' It will contain 
all the original facts, anecdotes, and documents on 
which the story is founded, with some very interesting 
and affecting stories parallel to those told of Uncle 
Tom. Now I want you to write for me just what you 
heard that slave-buyer say, exactly as he said it, that 
people may compare it with what I have written. My 
Key will be stronger than the Cabin." 

In regard to this " Key " Mrs. Stowe also wrote to 
the Duchess of Sutherland upon hearing that she had 
headed an address from the women of England to those 
of America : — 

It is made up of the facts, the documents, the 
things which my own eyes have looked upon and my 
hands have handled, that attest this awful indictment 

THE KEY. 189 

upon my country. I write it in the anguish of my 
soul, with tears and prayer, with sleepless nights and 
weary days. I bear my testimony with a heavy heart, 
as one who in court is forced by an awful oath to dis- 
close the sins of those dearest. 

So I am called to draw up this fearful witness 
against my country and send it into all countries, that 
the general voice of humanity may quicken our para- 
lyzed vitality, that all Christians may pray for us, and 
that shame, honor, love of country, and love of Christ 
may be roused to give us strength to cast out this 
mighty evil. Yours for the oppressed, 

H. B. Stowe. 

This harassing, brain-wearying, and heart-sickening 
labor was continued until the first of April, 1853, when, 
upon invitation of the Anti-Slavery Society of Glasgow, 
Scotland, Mrs. Stowe, accompanied by her husband and 
her brother, Charles Beecher, sailed for Europe. 

In the mean time the success of "Uncle Tom's Cabin " 
abroad was already phenomenal and unprecedented. 
From the pen of Mr. Sampson Low, the well-known 
London publisher, we have the following interesting 
statement regarding it : — 

" The first edition printed in London was in April, 
1852, by Henry Vizetelly, in a neat volume at ten and 
sixpence, of which he issued 7,000 copies. He received 
the first copy imported, through a friend who had 
bought it in Boston the day the steamer sailed, for his 
own reading. He gave it to Mr. V., who took it to 
the late Mr. David Bogue, well known for his general 
shrewdness and enterprise. He had the book to read 


and consider over night, and in the morning returned 
it, declining to take it at the very moderate price of 
five pounds. 

" Vizetelly at once put the volume into the hands of a 
friendly printer and brought it out on his own account, 
through the nominal agency of Clarke & Co. The 
7,000 copies sold, other editions followed, and Mr. 
Vizetelly disposed of his interest in the book to the 
printer and agent, who joined with Mr. Beeton and at 
once began to issue monster editions. The demand 
called for fresh supplies, and these created an increased 
demand. The discovery was soon made that any one 
was at liberty to reprint the book, and the initiative 
was thus given to a new era in cheap literature, founded 
on American reprints. A shilling edition followed the 
one-and-sixpence, and this in turn became the precursor 
of one i complete for sixpence.' From April to De- 
cember, 1852, twelve different editions (not reissues) 
were published, and within the twelve months of its 
first appearance eighteen different London publishing 
houses were engaged in supplying the great demand 
that had set in, the total number of editions being 
forty, varying from fine art-illustrated editions at 15s., 
10s., and 7s. 6d., to the cheap popular editions of Is., 
9d., and 6d. 

" After carefully analyzing these editions and weigh- 
ing probabilities with ascertained facts, I am able pretty 
confidently to say that the aggregate number of copies 
circulated in Great Britain and the colonies exceeds 
one and a half millions." 

A similar statement made by Clarke & Co. in October, 
1852, reveals the following facts. It says : " An early 


copy was sent from America the latter end of April to 
Mr. Bogue, the publisher, and was offered by him to 
Mr. Gilpin, late of Bishopsgate Stretet. Being declined 
by Mr. Gilpin, Mr. Bogue offered it to Mr. Henry 
Vizetelly, and by the latter gentleman it was eventually 
purchased for us. Before printing it, however, as 
there was one night allowed for decision, one volume 
was taken home to be read by Mr. Vizetelly, and the 
other by Mr. Salisbury, the printer, of Bouverie Street. 
The report of the latter gentleman the following morn- 
ing, to quote his own words, was : i I sat up till four 
in the morning reading the book, and the interest I felt 
was expressed one moment by laughter, another by tears. 
Thinking it might be weakness and not the power of 
the author that affected me, I resolved to try the effect 
upon my wife (a rather strong-minded woman). I 
accordingly woke her and read a few chapters to her. 
Finding that the interest in the story kept her awake, 
and that she, too, laughed and cried, I settled in my 
mind that it was a book that ought to, and might with 
safety, be printed.' 

" Mr. Vizetelly's opinion coincided with that of Mr. 
Salisbury, and to the latter gentleman it was confided 
to be brought out immediately. The week following 
the book was produced and one edition of 7,000 copies 
worked off. It made no stir until the middle of June, 
although we advertised it very extensively. From 
June it began to make its way, and it sold at the rate of 
1,000 per week during July. In August the demand 
became very great, and went on increasing to the 20th, 
by which time it was perfectly overwhelming. We 
have now about 400 people employed in getting out 


the book, and seventeen printing machines besides hand 
presses. Already about 150,000 copies of the book 
are in the hands of' the people, and still the returns of 
sales show no decline." 

The story was dramatized in the United States in 
August, 1852, without the consent or knowledge of 
the author, who had neglected to reserve her rights for 
this purpose. In September of the same year we find 
it announced as the attraction at two London theatres, 
namely, the Royal Victoria and the Great National 
Standard. In 1853 Professor Stowe writes: "The 
drama of l Uncle Tom ' has been going on in the Na- 
tional Theatre of New York all summer with most un- 
paralleled success. Everybody goes night after night, 
and nothing can stop it. The enthusiasm beats that 
of the run in the Boston Museum out and out. The 
' Tribune ' is full of it. The ' Observer,' the ' Journal 
of Commerce,' and all that sort of fellows, are aston- 
ished and nonplussed. They do not know what to say 
or do about it." 

While the English editions of the story were rapidly 
multiplying, and being issued with illustrations by 
Cruikshank, introductions by Elihu Burritt, Lord Car- 
lisle, etc., it was also making its way over the Continent. 
For the authorized French edition, translated by Ma- 
dame Belloc, and published by Charpentier of Paris, 
Mrs. Stowe wrote the following : — 


In authorizing the circulation of this work on the 
Continent of Europe, the author has only this apology, 
that the love of man is higher than the love of country. 


The great mystery which all Christian nations hold 
in common, the union of God with man through the 
humanity of Jesus Christ, invests human existence with 
an awful sacredness ; and in the eye of the true believer 
in Jesus, he who tramples on the rights of his meanest 
fellow-man is not only inhuman but sacrilegious, and 
the worst form of this sacrilege is the institution of 

It has been said that the representations of this book 
are exaggerations ! and oh, would that this were true ! 
Would that this book were indeed a fiction, and not a 
close mosaic of facts ! But that it is not a fiction the 
proofs he bleeding in thousands of hearts ; they have 
been attested by surrounding voices from almost every 
slave State, and from slave-owners themselves. Since so 
it must be, thanks be to God that this mighty cry, this 
wail of an unutterable anguish, has at last been heard ! 

It has been said, and not in utter despair but in sol- 
emn hope and assurance may we regard the struggle 
that now convulses America, — the outcry of the demon 
of slavery, which has heard the voice of Jesus of Naza- 
reth, and is rending and convulsing the noble nation 
from which at last it must depart. 

It cannot be that so monstrous a solecism can long 
exist in the bosom of a nation which in all respects is 
the best exponent of the great principle of universal 
brotherhood. In America the Frenchman, the Ger- 
man, the Italian, the Swede, and the Irish all mingle on 
terms of equal right ; all nations there display their 
characteristic excellences and are admitted by her lib- 
eral laws to equal privileges : everything is tending to 
liberalize, humanize, and elevate, and for that very rea- 


son it is that the contest with slavery there grows every 
year more terrible. 

The stream of human progress, widening, deepening, 
strengthening from the confluent forces of all nations, 
meets this barrier, behind which is concentrated all the 
ignorance, cruelty, and oppression of the dark ages, and 
it roars and foams and shakes the barrier, and anon it 
must bear it down. 

In its commencement slavery overspread every State 
in the Union : the progress of society has now eman- 
cipated the North from its yoke. In Kentucky, Ten- 
nessee, Virginia, and Maryland, at different times, strong 
movements have been made for emancipation, — move- 
ments enforced by a comparison of the progressive 
march of the adjoining free States with the poverty 
and sterility and ignorance produced by a system which 
in a few years wastes and exhausts all the resources of 
the soil without the power of renewal. 

The time cannot be distant when these States will 
emancipate for self-preservation ; and if no new slave 
territory be added, the increase of slave population in 
the remainder will enforce measures of emancipation. 

Here, then, is the point of the battle. Unless more 
slave territory is gained, slavery dies ; if it is gained, it 
lives. Around this point political parties fight and 
manoeuvre, and every year the battle wages hotter. 

The internal struggles of no other nation in the 
world are so interesting to Europeans as those of 
America ; for America is fast filling up from Europe, 
and every European has almost immediately his vote in 
her councils. 

If, therefore, the oppressed of other nations desire to 


find in America an asylum of permanent freedom, let 
them come prepared, heart and hand, and vote against 
the institution of slavery; for they who enslave man 
cannot themselves remain free. 

True are the great words of Kossuth : " No nation 
can remain free with whom freedom is a, privilege and 
not a principle." 

This preface was more or less widely copied in the 
twenty translations of the book that quickly followed 
its first appearance. These, arranged in the alphabetical 
order of their languages, are as follows : Armenian, Bo- 
hemian, Danish, Dutch, Finnish, Flemish, French, Ger- 
man, Hungarian, Illyrian, Italian, Polish, Portuguese, 
Romaic or modern Greek, Russian, Servian, Spanish, 
Wallachian, and Welsh. 

In Germany it received the following flattering notice 
from one of the leading literary journals : " The aboli- 
tionists in the United States should vote the author of 
' Uncle Tom's Cabin ' a civic crown, for a more pow- 
erful ally than Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe and her 
romance they could not have. We confess that in the 
whole modern romance literature of Germany, England, 
and France, we know of no novel to be called equal to 
this. In comparison with its glowing eloquence that 
never fails of its purpose, its wonderful truth to nature, 
the largeness of its ideas, and the artistic faultlessness 
of the machinery in this book, George Sand, with her 
Spiridon and Claudie, appears to us untrue and artificial ; 
Dickens, with his but too faithful pictures from the 
popular life of London, petty ; Bulwer, hectic and self- 
conscious. It is like a sign of warning from the New 
World to the Old." 


Madame George Sand reviewed the book, and spoke 
of Mrs. Stowe herself in words at once appreciative and 
discriminating : " Mrs. Stowe is all instinct ; it is the 
very reason she appears to some not to have talent. 
Has she not talent ? What is talent ? Nothing, doubt- 
less, compared to genius ; but has she genius ? She 
has genius as humanity feels the need of genius, — 
the genius of goodness, not that of the man of letters, 
but that of the saint." 

Charles Sumner wrote from the senate chamber at 
Washington to Professor Stowe : " All that I hear and 
read bears testimony to the good Mrs. Stowe has done. 
The article of George Sand is a most remarkable trib- 
ute, such as was hardly ever offered by such a genius to 
any living mortal. Should Mrs. Stowe conclude to visit 
Europe she will have a triumph." 

From Eversley parsonage Charles Kingsley wrote to 
Mrs. Stowe : — 

" A thousand thanks for your delightful letter. As 
for your progress and ovation here in England, I have 
no fear for you. You will be flattered and worshiped. 
You deserve it and you must bear it. I am sure that 
you have seen and suffered too much and too long to 
be injured by the foolish yet honest and heartfelt lion- 
izing which you must go through. 

I have many a story to tell you when we meet about 
the effects of the great book upon the most unexpected 

Yours ever faithfully, 

C. Kingsley. 


March 28, 1853, Professor Stowe sent the following 
communication to the Committee of Examination of the 
Theological Seminary at Andover : " As I shall not be 
present at the examinations this term, I think it proper 
to make to you a statement of the reasons of my ab- 
sence. During the last winter I have not enjoyed my 
usual health. Mrs. Stowe also became sick and very 
much exhausted. At this time we had the offer of a 
voyage to Great Britain and back free of expense." 

This offer, coming as it did from the friends of the 
cause of emancipation in the United Kingdom, was 
gladly accepted by Mr. and Mrs. Stowe, and they sailed 

The preceding month Mrs. Stowe had received a let- 
ter from Mrs. Follen in London, asking for information 
with regard to herself, her family, and the circum- 
stances of her writing " Uncle Tom's Cabin." 

In reply Mrs. Stowe sent the following very charac- 
teristic letter, which may be safely given at the risk of 
some repetition : — 

Andover, February 16, 1853. 

My dear Madam, — I hasten to reply to your letter, 
to me the more interesting that I have long been ac- 
quainted with you, and during all the nursery part of 
my life made daily use of your poems for children. 

I used to think sometimes in those days that I would 
write to you, and tell you how much I was obliged to 
you for the pleasure which they gave us all. 

So you want to know something about what sort of 
a woman I am ! Well, if this is any object, you shall 
have statistics free of charge. To begin, then, I am a 
little bit of a woman, — somewhat more than forty, 


about as thin and dry as a pinch of snuff ; never very 
much to look at in my best days, and looking like a 
used-up article now. 

I was married when I was twenty-five years old to a 
man rich in Greek and Hebrew, Latin and Arabic, and, 
alas! rich in nothing else. When I went to house- 
keeping, my entire stock of china for parlor and kitchen 
was bought for eleven dollars. That lasted very well 
for two years, till my brother was married and brought 
his bride to visit me. I then found, on review, that I 
had neither plates nor teacups to set a table for my 
father's family ; wherefore I thought it best to reinforce 
the establishment by getting me a tea-set that cost ten 
dollars more, and this, I believe, formed my whole stock 
in trade for some years. 

But then I was abundantly enriched with wealth of 
another sort. 

I had two little, curly-headed twin daughters to begin 
with, and my stock in this line has gradually increased, 
till I have been the mother of seven children, the most 
beautiful and the most loved of whom lies buried near 
my Cincinnati residence. It was at his dying bed and 
at his grave that I learned what a poor slave mother 
may feel when her child is torn away from her. In 
those depths of sorrow which seemed to me immeasur- 
able, it was my only prayer to God that such anguish 
might not be suffered in vain. There were circum- 
stances about his death of such peculiar bitterness, of 
what seemed almost cruel suffering, that I felt that I 
could never be consoled for it, unless this crushing of 
my own heart might enable me to work out some great 
good to others. . . . 


I allude to this here because I have often felt that 
much that is in that book (" Uncle Tom ") had its root 
in the awful scenes and bitter sorrows of that summer. 
It has left now, I trust, no trace on my mind, except a 
deep compassion for the sorrowful, especially for moth- 
ers who are separated from their children. 

During long years of struggling with poverty and 
sickness, and a hot, debilitating climate, my children 
grew up around me. The nursery and the kitchen were 
my principal fields of labor. Some of my friends, pity- 
ing my trials, copied and sent a number of little sketches 
from my pen to certain liberally paying " Annuals " 
with my name. With the first money that I earned in 
this way I bought a feather-bed ! for as I had married 
into poverty and without a dowry, and as my husband 
had only a large library of books and a great deal of 
learning, the bed and pillows were thought the most 
profitable investment. After this I thought that I had 
discovered the philosopher's stone. So when a new car- 
pet or mattress was going to be needed, or when, at the 
close of the year, it began to be evident that my family 
accounts, like poor Dora's, " would n't add up," then I 
used to say to my faithful friend and factotum Anna, 
who shared all my joys and sorrows, " Now, if you will 
keep the babies and attend to the things in the house 
for one day, I '11 write a piece, and then we shall be out 
of the scrape." So I became an author, — very modest 
at first, I do assure you, and remonstrating very seri- 
ously with the friends who had thought it best to put 
my name to the pieces by way of getting up a reputa- 
tion ; and if you ever see a woodcut of me, with an 
immoderately long nose, on the cover of all the U. S. 


Almanacs, I wish you to take notice, that I have been 
forced into it contrary to my natural modesty by the 
imperative solicitations of my dear five thousand friends 
and the public generally. One thing I must say with 
regard to my life at the West, which you will under- 
stand better than many English women could. 

I lived two miles from the city of Cincinnati, in the 
country, and domestic service, not always you know to 
be found in the city, is next to an impossibility to ob- 
tain in the country, even by those who are willing to 
give the highest wages ; so what was to be expected for 
poor me, who had very little of this world's goods to 

Had it not been for my inseparable friend Anna, a 
noble-hearted English girl, who landed on our shores 
in destitution and sorrow, and clave to me as Ruth to 
Naomi, I had never lived through all the trials which 
this uncertainty and want of domestic service imposed 
on both : you may imagine, therefore, how glad I was 
when, our seminary property being divided out into 
small lots which were rented at a low price, a number 
of poor families settled in our vicinity, from whom we 
could occasionally obtain domestic service. About a 
dozen families of liberated slaves were among the num- 
ber, and they became my favorite resort in cases of 
emergency. If anybody wishes to have a black face 
look handsome, let them be left, as I have been, in feeble 
health in oppressive hot weather, with a sick baby in 
arms, and two or three other little ones in the nursery, 
and not a servant in the whole house to do a single turn. 
Then, if they could see my good old Aunt Frankie com- 
ing with her honest, blufP, black face, her long, strong 


arms, her chest as big and stout as a barrel, and her 
hilarious, hearty laugh, perfectly delighted to take one's 
washing and do it at a fair price, they would appreciate 
the beauty of black people. 

My cook, poor Eliza Buck, — how she would stare to 
think of her name going to England ! — was a regular 
epitome of slave life in herself ; fat, gentle, easy, lov- 
ing and lovable, always calling my very modest house 
and door-yard " The Place," as if it had been a planta- 
tion with seven hundred hands on it. She had lived 
through the whole sad story of a Virginia-raised slave's 
life. In her youth she must have been a very hand- 
some mulatto girl. Her voice was sweet, and her man- 
ners refined and agreeable. She was raised in a good 
family as a nurse and seamstress. When the family 
became embarrassed, she was suddenly sold on to a 
plantation in Louisiana. She has often told me how, 
without any warning, she was suddenly forced into a 
carriage, and saw her little mistress screaming and 
stretching her arms from the window towards her as 
she was driven away. She has told me of scenes on 
the Louisiana plantation, and she has often been out at 
night by stealth ministering to poor slaves who had 
been mangled and lacerated by the lash. Hence she 
was sold into Kentucky, and her last master was the 
father of all her children. On this point she ever 
maintained a delicacy and reserve that always appeared 
to me remarkable. She always called him her husband ; 
and it was not till after she had lived with me some 
years that I discovered the real nature of the connec- 
tion. I shall never forget how sorry I felt for her, nor 
my feelings at her humble apology, " You know, Mrs. 


Stowe, slave women cannot help themselves." She had 
two very pretty quadroon daughters, with her beautiful 
hair and eyes, interesting children, whom I had in- 
structed in the family school with my children. Time 
would fail to tell you all that I learned incidentally of 
the slave system in the history of various slaves who 
came into my family, and of the underground railroad 
which, I may say, ran through our house. But the 
letter is already too long. 

You ask with regard to the remuneration which I 
have received for my work here in America. Having 
been poor all my life and expecting to be poor the rest 
of it, the idea of making money by a book which I 
wrote just because I could not help it, never occurred 
to me. It was therefore an agreeable surprise to re- 
ceive ten thousand dollars as the first-iru^s of three 
months' sale. I presume as much more is now due. 
Mr. Bosworth in England, the firm of Clarke & Co., 
and Mr. Bentley, have all offered me an interest in the 
sales of their editions in London. I am very glad of 
it, both on account of the value of what they offer, 
and the value of the example they set in this matter, 
wherein I think that justice has been too little regarded. 

I have been invited to visit Scotland, and shall proba- 
bly spend the summer there and in England. 

I have very much at heart a design to erect in some 
of the Northern States a normal school, for the educa- 
tion of colored teachers in the United States and in 
Canada. I have very much wished that some perma- 
nent memorial of good to the colored race might be 
created out of the proceeds of a work which promises 
to have so unprecedented a sale. My own share of the 


profits will be less than that of the publishers', either 
English or American ; but I am willing to give largely 
for this purpose, and I have no doubt that the pub- 
lishers, both American and English, will unite with me ; 
for nothing tends more immediately to the emancipa- 
tion of the slave than the education and elevation of 
the free. 

I am now writing a work which will contain, perhaps, 
an equal amount of matter with " Uncle Tom's Cabin." 
It will contain all the facts and documents on which 
that story was founded, and an immense body of facts, 
reports of trials, legal documents, and testimony of 
people now living South, which will more than confirm 
every statement in " Uncle Tom's Cabin." 

I must confess that till I began the examination of 
facts in order to write this book, much as I thought I 
knew before, I had not begun to measure the depth of 
the abyss. The law records of courts and judicial pro- 
ceedings are so incredible as to fill me with amazement 
whenever I think of them. It seems to me that the 
book cannot but be felt, and, coming upon the sensi- 
bility awaked by the other, do something. 

I suffer exquisitely in writing these things. It may 
be truly said that I write with my heart's blood. Many 
times in writing " Uncle Tom's Cabin " I thought my 
health would fail utterly ; but I prayed earnestly that 
God would help me till I got through, and still I am 
pressed beyond measure and above strength. 

This horror, this nightmare abomination ! can it be 
in my country ! It lies like lead on my heart, it 
shadows my life with sorrow ; the more so that I feel, 
as for my own brothers, for the South, and am pained 




by every horror I am obliged to write, as one who is 
forced by some awful oath to disclose in court some 
family disgrace. Many times I have thought that I 
must die, and yet I pray God that I may live to see 
something done. I shall in all probability be in Lon- 
don in May : shall I see you ? 

It seems to me so odd and dream-like that so many 
persons desire to see me, and now I cannot help think- 
ing that they will think, when they do, that God hath 
chosen " the weak things of this world." 

If I live till spring I shall hope to see Shakespeare's 
grave, and Milton's mulberry-tree, and the good land of 
my fathers, — old, old England ! May that day come ! 
Yours affectionately, 

H. B. Stowe. 



Crossing the Atlantic. — Arrival in England. — Reception in 
Liverpool. — Welcome to Scotland. — A Glasgow Tea-Party. 
— Edinburgh Hospitality. — Aberdeen. — Dundee and Birming- 
ham. — Joseph Sturge. — Elihu Burritt. — London. — The 
Lord Mayor's Dinner. — Charles Dickens and his Wife. 

The journey undertaken by Mrs. Stowe with her 
husband and brother through England and Scotland, 
and afterwards with her brother alone over much of 
the Continent, was one of unusual interest. No one 
was more surprised than Mrs. Stowe herself by the 
demonstrations of respect and affection that everywere 
greeted her. 

Fortunately an unbroken record of this memorable 
journey, in Mrs. Stowe's own words, has been preserved, 
and we are thus able to receive her own impressions of 
what she saw, heard, and did, under circumstances that 
were at once pleasant, novel, and embarrassing. Be- 
ginning with her voyage, she writes as follows : — 

Liverpool, April 11, 1853. 

My dear Children, — You wish, first of all, to 
hear of the voyage. Let me assure you, my dears, in 
the very commencement of the matter, that going to 
sea is not at all the thing that we have taken it to be. 

Let me warn you, if you ever go to sea, to omit all 


preparations for amusement on shipboard. Don't leave 
so much as the unlocking of a trunk to be done after 
sailing. In the few precious minutes when the ship 
stands still, before she weighs her anchor, set your 
house, that is to say your stateroom, as much in order 
as if you were going to be hanged ; place everything 
in the most convenient position to be seized without 
trouble at a moment's notice ; for be sure that in half 
an hour after sailing, an infinite desperation will seize 
you, in which the grasshopper will be a burden. If 
anything is in your trunk, it might almost as well be 
in the sea, for any practical probability of your getting 
to it. 

Our voyage out was called " a good run." It was 
voted unanimously to be " an extraordinary good pas- 
sage," " a pleasant voyage ; " yet the ship rocked the 
whole time from side to side with a steady, dizzy, con- 
tinuous motion, like a great cradle. I had a new sym- 
pathy for babies, poor little things, who are rocked 
hours at a time without so much as a " by your leave " 
in the case. No wonder there are so many stupid peo- 
ple in the world ! 

We arrived on Sunday morning : the custom-house 
officers, very gentlemanly men, came on board; our 
luggage was all set out, and passed through a rapid 
examination, which in many cases amounted only to 
opening the trunk and shutting it, and all was over. 
The whole ceremony did not occupy two hours. 

We were inquiring of some friends for the most con- 
venient hotel, when we found the son of Mr. Cropper, 
of Dingle Bank, waiting in the cabin to take us with 
him to their hospitable abode. In a few moments after 


the baggage had been examined, we all bade adieu to 
the old ship, and went on board the little steam tender 
which carries passengers up to the city. 

This Mersey River would be a very beautiful one, if 
it were not so dingy and muddy. As we are sailing 
up in the tender towards Liverpool, I deplore the cir- 
cumstance feelingly. 

" What does make this river so muddy ? " 

" Oh, says a by-stander, " don't you know that 

" 'The quality of mercy is not strained' ? " 

I had an early opportunity of making acquaintance 
with my English brethren ; for, much to my astonish- 
ment, I found quite a crowd on the wharf, and we 
walked up to our carriage through a long lane of peo- 
ple, bowing, and looking very glad to see us. 

When I came to get into the hack it was surrounded 
by more faces than I could count. They stood very 
quietly, and looked very kindly, though evidently very 
much determined to look. Something prevented the 
hack from moving on ; so the interview was prolonged 
for some time. 

Our carriage at last drove on, taking us through 
Liverpool and a mile or two out, and at length wound 
its way along the gravel paths of a beautiful little re- 
treat, on the banks of the Mersey, called the " Dingle." 
It opened to my eyes like a paradise, all wearied as I 
was with the tossing of the sea. I have since become 
familiar with these beautiful little spots, which are so 
common in England ; but now all was entirely new to me. 

After a short season allotted to changing our ship 
garments and for rest, we found ourselves seated at the 


dinner table. While dining, the sister-in-law of our 
friends came in from the next door, to exchange a word 
or two of welcome, and invite us to breakfast with 
them the following morning. 

The next morning we slept late and hurried to dress, 
remembering our engagement to breakfast with the 
brother of our host, whose cottage stands on the same 
ground, within a few steps of our own. I had not the 
slightest idea of what the English mean by a breakfast, 
and therefore went in all innocence, supposing I should 
see nobody but the family circle of my acquaintances. 
Quite to my astonishment, I found a party of between 
thirty and forty people ; ladies sitting with their 
bonnets on, as in a morning call. It was impossible, 
however, to feel more than a momentary embarrass- 
ment in the friendly warmth and cordiality of the circle 
by whom we were surrounded. 

In the evening I went into Liverpool to attend a 
party of friends of the anti-slavery cause. When I 
was going away, the lady of the house said that the 
servants were anxious to see me ; so I came into the 
dressing-room to give them an opportunity. 

The next day was appointed to leave Liverpool. A 
great number of friends accompanied us to the cars, 
and a beautiful bouquet of flowers was sent with a very 
affecting message from a sick gentleman, who, from the 
retirement of his chamber, felt a desire to testify his 
sympathy. We left Liverpool with hearts a little trem- 
ulous and excited by the vibration of an atmosphere of 
universal sympathy and kindness, and found ourselves, 
at length, shut from the warm adieu of our friends, in 
a snug compartment of the railroad car. 


" Dear me ! " said Mr. S. ; " six Yankees shut up in 
a car together ! Not one Englishman to tell us any- 
thing about the country ! Just like the six old ladies 
that made their living by taking tea at each other's 
houses ! " 

What a bright lookout we kept for ruins and old 
houses ! Mr. S., whose eyes are always in every place, 
allowed none of us to slumber, but looking out, first on 
his own side and then on ours, called our attention to 
every visible thing. If he * had been appointed on a 
mission of inquiry, he could not have been more zealous 
and faithful, and I began to think that our desire for 
an English cicerone was quite superfluous. 

Well, we are in Scotland at last, and now our pulse 
rises as the sun declines in the west. We catch glimpses 
of Solway Frith and talk about Redgauntlet. The sun 
went down and night drew on ; still we were in Scot- 
land. Scotch ballads, Scotch tunes, and Scotch litera- 
ture were in the ascendant. We sang " Auld Lang 
Syne," " Scots wha hae," and " Bonnie Doon," and 
then, changing the key, sang " Dundee," " Elgin," and 

" Take care," said Mr. S. ; " don't get too much ex- 

" Ah," said I, " this is a thing that comes only once 
in a lifetime ; do let us have the comfort of it. We 
shall never come into Scotland for the^rs^ time again." 

While we were thus at the fusion point of enthu- 
siasm, the cars stopped at Lockerbie. All was dim and 
dark outside, but we soon became conscious that there 
was quite a number of people collected, peering into 
the window ; and with a strange kind of thrill, I heard 


my name inquired for in the Scottish accent. I went 
to the window ; there were men, women, and children 
gathered, and hand after hand was presented, with the 
words, " Ye 're welcome to Scotland ! " 

Then they inquired for and shook hands with all 
the party, having in some mysterious manner got the 
knowledge of who they were, even down to little G., 
whom they took to be my son. Was it not pleasant, 
when I had a heart so warm for this old country ? I 
shall never forget the thrill of those words, " Ye 're 
welcome to Scotland," nor the " Gude night." 

After that we found similar welcomes in many suc- 
ceeding stopping - places ; and though I did wave a 
towel out of the window, instead of a pocket handker- 
chief, and commit other awkwardnesses, from not know- 
ing how to play my part, yet I fancied, after all, that 
Scotland and we were coming on well together. Who 
the good souls were that were thus watching for us 
through the night, I am sure I do not know ; but that 
they were of the " one blood " which unites all the 
families of the earth, I felt. 

At Glasgow, friends were waiting in the station- 
house. Earnest, eager, friendly faces, ever so many. 
Warm greetings, kindly words. A crowd parting in 
the middle, through which we were conducted into a 
carriage, and loud cheers of welcome, sent a throb, as 
the voice of living Scotland. 

I looked out of the carriage, as we drove on, and 
saw, by the light of a lantern, Argyll Street. It was 
past twelve o'clock when I found myself in a warm, 
cosy parlor, with friends whom I have ever since been 
glad to remember. In a little time we were all safely 


housed in our hospitable apartments, and sleep fell on 
me for the first time in Scotland. 

The next morning I awoke worn and weary, and 
scarce could the charms of the social Scotch breakfast 
restore me. 

Our friend and host was Mr. Bailie Paton. I believe 
that it is to his suggestion in a public meeting that we 
owe the invitation which brought us to Scotland. 

After breakfast the visiting began. First, a friend 
of the family, with three beautiful children, the young- 
est of whom was the bearer of a handsomely bound al- 
bum, containing a pressed collection of the sea-mosses 
of the Scottish coast, very vivid and beautiful. 

All this day is a confused dream to me of a dizzy 
and overwhelming kind. So many letters that it took 
brother Charles from nine in the morning till two in 
the afternoon to read and answer them in the shortest 
manner ; letters from all classes of people, high and 
low, rich and poor, in all shades and styles of composi- 
tion, poetry and prose ; some mere outbursts of feel- 
ing ; some invitations ; some advice and suggestions ; 
some requests and inquiries ; some presenting books, or 
flowers, or fruit. 

Then came, in their turn, deputations from Paisley, 
Greenock, Dundee, Aberdeen, Edinburgh, and Belfast 
in Ireland ; calls of friendship, invitations of all de- 
scriptions to go everywhere, and to see everything, and 
to stay in so many places. One kind, venerable minis- 
ter, with his lovely daughter, offered me a retreat in 
his quiet manse on the beautiful shores of the Clyde. 

For all these kindnesses, what could I give in return ? 
There was scarce time for even a grateful thought on 


each. People have often said to me that it must have 
been an exceeding bore. For my part, I could not 
think of regarding it so. It only oppressed me with an 
unutterable sadness. 

In the afternoon I rode out with the lord provost to 
see the cathedral. The lord provost answers to the 
lord mayor in England. His title and office in both 
countries continue only a year, except in case of re- 
election. \ 

As I saw the way to the cathedral blocked up by a 
throng of people who had come out to see me, I could 
not help saying, " What went ye out for to see ? a 
reed shaken with the wind? " In fact I was so worn 
out that I could hardly walk through the building. 
The next morning I was so ill as to need a physician, 
unable to see any one that called, or to hear any of the 
letters. I passed most of the day in bed, but in the 
evening I had to get up, as I had engaged to drink tea 
with two thousand people. Our kind friends, Dr. and 
Mrs. Wardlaw, came after us, and Mr. S. and I went in 
the carriage with them. Our carriage stopped at last 
at the place. I have a dim remembrance of a way be- 
ing made for us through a great crowd all round the 
house, and of going with Mrs. Wardlaw up into a 
dressing-room where I met and shook hands with many 
friendly people. Then we passed into a gallery, where 
a seat was reserved for our party, directly in front of 
the audience. Our friend Bailie Paton presided. Mrs. 
Wardlaw and I sat together, and around us many 
friends, chiefly ministers of the different churches, the 
ladies and gentlemen of the Glasgow Anti-Slavery So- 
ciety and others. I told you it was a tea-party ; but 


the arrangements were altogether different from any I 
had ever seen. There were narrow tables stretched up 
and down the whole extent of the great hall, and every 
person had an appointed seat. These tables were set 
out with cups and saucers, cakes, biscuit, etc., and when 
the proper time came, attendants passed along serving 
tea. The arrangements were so accurate and methodi- 
cal that the whole multitude actually took tea together, 
without the least apparent inconvenience or disturbance. 

There was a gentle, subdued murmur of conversation 
all over the house, the sociable clinking of teacups and 
teaspoons, while the entertainment was going on. It 
seemed to me such an odd idea, I could not help won- 
dering what sort of a teapot that must be in which all 
this tea for two thousand people was made. Truly, as 
Hadji Baba says, I think they must have had the 
" father of all the tea-kettles " to boil it in. I could 
not help wondering if old mother Scotland had put two 
thousand teaspoonfuls of tea for the company, and one 
for the teapot, as is our good Yankee custom. 

We had quite a sociable time up in our gallery. Our 
tea-table stretched quite across, and we drank tea in 
sight of all the people. By we, I mean a great num- 
ber of ministers and their wives, and ladies of the Anti- 
Slavery Society, besides our party, and the friends 
whom I have mentioned before. All seemed to be en- 
joying themselves. 

After tea they sang a few verses of the seventy-sec- 
ond psalm in the old Scotch version. 

April 17. To-day a large party of us started on a 
small steamer to go down the Clyde. It was a trip full 
of pleasure and incident. Now we were shown the re- 


mains of old Cardross Castle, where it was said Robert 
Bruce breathed his last. And now we came near the 
beautiful grounds of Roseneath, a green, velvet-like pe- 
ninsula, stretching out into the widening waters. 

Somewhere about here I was presented, by his own 
request, to a broad-shouldered Scotch farmer, who stood 
some six feet two, and who paid me the compliment to 
say that he had read my book, and that he would walk 
six miles to see me any day. Such a flattering evidence 
of discriminating taste, of course, disposed my heart 
towards him ; but when I went up and put my hand 
into his great prairie of a palm, I was as a grasshopper 
in my own eyes. I inquired who he was and was told 
he was one of the Duke of Argyll's farmers. I thought 
to myself if all the duke's farmers were of this pattern, 
that he might be able to speak to the enemy in the 
gates to some purpose. „ 

It was concluded after we left Roseneath that, instead 
of returning by the boat, we should take carriage and 
ride home along the banks of the river. In our car- 
riage were Mr. S. and myself, Dr. Robson, and Lady 
Anderson. About this time I commenced my first es- 
say towards giving titles, and made, as you may sup- 
pose, rather an odd piece of work of it, generally say- 
ing " Mrs." first, and " Lady " afterwards, and then 
begging pardon. Lady Anderson laughed and said 
she would give me a general absolution. She is a truly 
genial, hearty Scotchwoman, and seemed to enter hap- 
pily into the spirit of the hour. 

As we rode on, we found that the news of our com- 
ing had spread through the village. People came and 
stood in their doors, beckoning, bowing, smiling, and 


waving their handkerchiefs, and the carriage was sev- 
eral times stopped by persons who came to offer flowers. 
I remember, in particular, a group of young girls bring- 
ing to the carriage two of the most beautiful children 
I ever saw, whose little hands literally deluged us with 

At the village of Helensburgh we stopped a little 
while to call upon Mrs. Bell, the wife of Mr. Bell, the 
inventor of the steamboat. His invention in this coun- 
try was at about the same time as that of Fulton in 
America. Mrs. Bell came to the carriage to speak to 
us. She is a venerable woman, far advanced in years. 
They had prepared a lunch for us, and quite a number 
of people had come together to meet us, but our friends 
said there was not time for us to stop. 

We rode through several villages after this, and met 
everywhere a warm welcome. What pleased me was, 
that it was not mainly from the literary, nor the rich, 
nor the great, but the plain, common people. The 
butcher came out of his stall and the baker from his 
shop, the miller dusty with flour, the blooming, comely 
young mother, with her baby in her arms, all smiling 
and bowing, with that hearty, intelligent, friendly look, 
as if they knew we should be glad to see them. 

Once, while we stopped to change horses, I, for the 
sake of seeing something more of the country, walked 
on. It seems the honest landlord and his wife were 
greatly disappointed at this ; however, they got into 
the carriage and rode on to see me, and I shook hands 
with them with a right good will. 

We saw several of the clergymen, who came out to 
meet us; and I remember stopping just to be intro- 


duced, one by one, to a most delightful family, a gray- 
headed father and mother, with comely brothers and 
fair sisters, all looking so kindly and homelike, that I 
should have been glad to accept the invitation they 
gave me to their dwelling. 

This day has been a strange phenomenon to me. In 
the first place, I have seen in all these villages how 
universally the people read. I have seen how capable 
they are of a generous excitement and enthusiasm, and 
how much may be done by a work of fiction so writ- 
ten as to enlist those sympathies which are common to 
all classes. Certainly a great deal may be effected in 
this way, if God gives to any one the power, as I hope 
he will to many. The power of fictitious writing, for 
good as well as evil, is a thing which ought most seri- 
ously to be reflected on. No one can fail to see that 
in our day it is becoming a very great agency. 

We came home quite tired, as you may well suppose. 
You will not be surprised that the next day I found 
myself more disposed to keep my bed than go out. 

Two days later : We bade farewell to Glasgow, over- 
whelmed with kindness to the last, and only oppressed 
by the thought of how little that was satisfactory we 
were able to give in return. Again we were in the rail- 
road car on our way to Edinburgh. A pleasant two 
hours' trip is this from Glasgow to Edinburgh. When 
the cars stopped at Linlithgow station, the name started 
us as out of a dream. 

In Edinburgh the cars stopped amid a crowd of peo- 
ple who had assembled to meet us. The lord provost 
met us at the door of the car, and presented us to the 
magistracy of the city and the committees of the Edin- 


burgh Anti-Slavery Societies. The drab dresses and 
pure white bonnets of many Friends were conspicuous 
among the dense moving crowd, as white doves seen 
against a dark cloud. Mr. S. and myself, and our 
future hostess, Mrs. Wigham, entered the carriage with 
the lord provost, and away we drove, the crowd follow- 
ing with their shouts and cheers. I was inexpressibly 
touched and affected by this. While we were passing 
the monument of Scott, I felt an oppressive melan- 
choly. What a moment life seems in the presence of 
the noble dead ! What a momentary thing is art, in 
all its beauty ! Where are all those great souls that 
have created such an atmosphere of light about Edin- 
burgh ? and how little a space was given them to live 
and enjoy ! 

We drove all over Edinburgh, up to the castle, to the 
university, to Holyrood, to the hospitals, and through 
many of the principal streets, amid shouts, and smiles, 
and greetings. Some boys amused me very much by 
their pertinacious attempts to keep up with the car- 

" Heck," says one of them, " that 's her ; see the 
courts ! " 

The various engravers who have amused themselves 
by diversifying my face for the public having all, with 
great unanimity, agreed in giving prominence to this 
point, I suppose the urchins thought they were on safe 
ground there. I certainly think I answered one good 
purpose that day, and that is of giving the much-op- 
pressed and calumniated class called boys an opportu- 
nity to develop all the noise that was in them, — a thing 
for which I think they must bless me in their remem- 


At last the carriage drove into a deep-graveled yard, 
and we alighted at a porch covered with green ivy, and 
found ourselves once more at home. 

You may spare your anxieties about me, for I do as- 
sure you that if I were an old Sevres china jar I could 
not have more careful handling than I do. Everybody 
is considerate ; a great deal to say when there appears 
to be so much excitement. Everybody seems to under- 
stand how good-for-nothing I am; and yet, with all 
this consideration, I have been obliged to keep my room 
and bed for a good part of the time. Of the multi- 
tudes who have called, I have seen scarcely any. 

To-morrow evening is to be the great tea-party here. 
How in the world I am ever to live through it I don't 

The amount of letters we found waiting for us here 
in Edinburgh was, if possible, more appalling than in 
Glasgow. Among those from persons whom you would 
be interested in hearing of, I may mention a very kind 
and beautiful one from the Duchess of Sutherland, and 
one also from the Earl of Carlisle, both desiring to 
make appointments for meeting us as soon as we come 
to London. Also a very kind and interesting note from 
the Rev. Mr. Kingsley and lady. I look forward with 
a great deal of interest to passing a little time with 
them in their rectory. 

As to all engagements, I am in a state of happy ac- 
quiescence, having resigned myself, as a very tame lion, 
into the hands of my keepers. Whenever the time 
comes for me to do anything, I try to behave as well as 
I can, which, as Dr. Young says, is all that an angel 
could do under the same circumstances. 


April 26. Last night came off the soiree. The 
hall was handsomely decorated with flags in front. 
We went with the lord provost in his carriage. We 
went up as before into a dressing-room, where I was 
presented to many gentlemen and ladies. When we go 
in, the cheering, clapping, and stamping at first strikes 
one with a strange sensation ; hut then everybody looks 
so heartily pleased and delighted, and there is such an 
all-pervading atmosphere of geniality and sympathy, as 
makes me in a few moments feel quite at home. After 
all, I consider that these cheers and applauses are Scot- 
land's voice to America, a recognition of the brother- 
hood of the countries. 

The national penny offering, consisting of a thou- 
sand golden sovereigns on a magnificent silver salver, 
stood conspicuously in view of the audience. It has 
been an unsolicited offering, given in the smallest sums, 
often from the extreme poverty of the giver. The 
committee who collected it in Edinburgh and Glasgow 
bore witness to the willingness with which the very 
poorest contributed the offering of their sympathy. In 
one cottage they found a blind woman, and said, 
" Here, at least, is one who will feel no interest, as she 
cannot have read the book." 

" Indeed," said the old lady, " if I cannot read, my 
son has read it to me, and I 've got my penny saved to 

It is to my mind extremely touching to see how the 
poor, in their poverty, can be moved to a generosity 
surpassing that of the rich. Nor do I mourn that they 
took it from their slender store, because I know that a 
penny given from a kindly impulse is a greater comfort 


and blessing to the poorest giver than even a penny re- 

As in the case of the other meeting, we came out 
long before the speeches were ended. Well, of course 
I did not sleep all night, and the next day I felt quite 

From Edinburgh we took cars for Aberdeen. I en- 
joyed this ride more than anything we had seen yet, the 
country was so wild and singular. In the afternoon we 
came in sight of the German Ocean. The free, bra- 
cing air from the sea, and the thought that it actually 
was the German Ocean, and that over the other side 
was Norway, within a day's sail of us, gave it a strange, 
romantic charm. It was towards the close of the after- 
noon that we found ourselves crossing the Dee, in view 
of Aberdeen. My spirits were wonderfully elated : the 
grand scenery and fine, bracing air ; the noble, distant 
view of the city, rising with its harbor and shipping, — 
all filled me with delight. In this propitious state, dis- 
posed to be pleased with everything, our hearts re- 
sponded warmly to the greetings of the many friends 
who were waiting for us at the station-house. 

The lord provost received us into his carriage, and 
as we drove along pointed out to us the various objects 
of interest in the beautiful town. Among other things, 
a fine old bridge across the Dee attracted our particular 
attention. We were conducted to the house of Mr. 
Cruikshank, a Friend, and found waiting for us there 
the thoughtful hospitality which we had ever experi- 
enced in all our stopping-places. A snug little quiet 
supper was laid out upon the table, of which we par- 
took in haste, as we were informed that the assembly at 
the hall were waiting to receive us. 


There arrived, we found the hall crowded, and with 
difficulty made our way to the platform. Whether 
owing to the stimulating effect of the air from the 
ocean, or to the comparatively social aspect of the scene, 
or perhaps to both, certain it is that we enjoyed the 
meeting with great zest. I was surrounded on the stage 
with blooming young ladies, one of whom put into my 
hands a beautiful bouquet, some flowers of which I 
have now, dried, in my album. The refreshment tables 
were adorned with some exquisite wax flowers, the work, 
as I was afterwards told, of a young lady in the place. 
One of these designs especially interested me. It was 
a group of water-lilies resting on a mirror, which gave 
them the appearance of growing in the water. 

We had some very animated speaking, in which the 
speakers contrived to blend enthusiastic admiration and 
love for America with detestation of slavery. 

They presented an offering in a beautiful embroid- 
ered purse, and after much shaking of hands we went 
home, and sat down to the supper-table for a little more 
chat before going to bed. The next morning — as we 
had only till noon to stay in Aberdeen — our friends, 
the lord provost and Mr. Leslie, the architect, came im- 
mediately after breakfast to show us the place. 

About two o'clock we started from Aberdeen, among 
crowds of friends, to whom we bade farewell with real 


At Stonehaven station, where we stopped a few min- 
utes, there was quite a gathering of the inhabitants to 
exchange greetings, and afterwards, at successive sta- 
tions along the road, many a kindly face and voice made 
our journey a pleasant one. 


When we got into Dundee it seemed all alive with 
welcome. We went in the carriage with the lord pro- 
vost, Mr. Thorns, to his residence, where a party had 
been waiting dinner for us for some time. 

The meeting in the evening was in a large church, 
densely crowded, and conducted much as the others 
had been. When they came to sing the closing hymn, 
I hoped they would sing Dundee ; but they did not, 
and I fear in Scotland, as elsewhere, the characteristic 
national melodies are giving way before more modern 

We left Dundee at two o'clock, by cars, for Edin- 
burgh again, and in the evening attended another soiree 
of the workingmen of Edinburgh. We have received 
letters from the workingmen, both in Dundee and 
Glasgow, desiring our return to attend soirees in those 
cities. Nothing could give us greater pleasure, had we 
time or strength. The next day we had a few calls to 
make, and an invitation from Lady Drummond to visit 
classic Hawthornden, which, however, we had not time 
to accept. In the forenoon, Mr. S. and I called on 
Lord and Lady Gainsborough. Though she is one of 
the queen's household, she is staying here at Edinburgh 
while the queen is at Osborne. I infer, therefore, that 
the appointment includes no very onerous duties. The 
Earl of Gainsborough is the eldest brother of the Rev. 
Baptist W. Noel. 

It was a rainy, misty morning when I left my kind 
retreat and friends in Edinburgh. Considerate as every- 
body had been about imposing on my time or strength, 
still you may well believe that I was much exhausted. 
We left Edinburgh, therefore, with the determination 


to plunge at once into some hidden and unknown spot, 
where we might spend two or three days quietly by our- 
selves ; and remembering your Sunday at Stratf ord-on- 
Avon, I proposed that we should go there. As Strat- 
ford, however, is off the railroad line, we determined to 
accept the invitation, which was lying by us, from our 
friend, Joseph Sturge, of Birmingham, and take sanctu- 
ary with him. So we wrote on, intrusting him with the 
secret, and charging him on no account to let any one 
know of our arrival. 

About night our cars whizzed into the depot at Bir- 
mingham ; but just before we came in a difficulty was 
started in the company. "Mr. Sturge is to be there 
waiting for us, but he does not know us and we don't 
know him ; what is to be done ? " C. insisted that 
he should know him by instinct ; and so, after we 
reached the depot, we told him to sally out and try. 
Sure enough, in a few moments he pitched upon a 
cheerful, middle-aged gentleman, with a moderate but 
not decisive broad brim to his hat, and challenged him 
as Mr. Sturge. The result verified the truth that " in- 
stinct is a great matter." In a few moments our new 
friend and ourselves were snugly encased in a fly, trot- 
ting off as briskly as ever we could to his place at 
Edgbaston, nobody a whit the wiser. You do not 
know how pleased we felt to think we had done it so 

As we were drinking tea that evening, Elihu Burritt 
came in. It was the first time I had ever seen him, 
though I had heard a great deal of him from our 
friends in Edinburgh. He is a man in middle life, tall 
and slender, with fair complexion, blue eyes, an air of 


delicacy and refinement, and manners of great gentle- 
ness. My ideas of the " learned blacksmith " had been 
of something altogether more ponderous and peremp- 
tory. Elihu has been for some years operating, in Eng- 
land and on the Continent, in a movement which many 
in our half-Christianized times regard with as much 
incredulity as the grim, old warlike barons did the sus- 
picious imbecilities of reading and writing. The sword 
now, as then, seems so much more direct a way to termi- 
nate controversies, that many Christian men, even, can- 
not conceive how the world is to get along without it. 

We spent the evening in talking over various topics 
relating to the anti-slavery movement. Mr. Sturge was 
very confident that something more was to be done than 
had ever been done yet, by combinations for the en- 
couragement of free in the place of slave grown 
produce ; a question which has, ever since the days of 
Clarkson, more or less deeply occupied the minds of 
abolitionists in England. I should say that Mr. Sturge 
in his family has for many years conscientiously for- 
borne the use of any article produced by slave labor. I 
could scarcely believe it possible that there could be 
such an abundance and variety of all that is comfortable 
and desirable in the various departments of household 
living within these limits. Mr. Sturge presents the 
subject with very great force, the more so from the 
consistency of his example. 

The next morning, as we were sitting down to break- 
fast, our friends sent in to me a plate of the largest, 
finest strawberries I have ever seen, which, considering 
that it was only the latter part of April, seemed to me 
quite an astonishing luxury. 


Before we left, we had agreed to meet a circle of 
friends from Birmingham, consisting of the Abolition 
Society there, which is of long standing, extending back 
in its memories to the very commencement of the agi- 
tation under Clarkson and Wilberforce. The windows 
of the parlor were opened to the ground ; and the com- 
pany invited filled not only the room, but stood in a 
crowd on the grass around the window. Among the 
peaceable company present was an admiral in the navy, 
a fine, cheerful old gentleman, who entered with hearty 
interest into the scene. 

A throng of friends accompanied us to the depot, 
while from Birmingham we had the pleasure of the 
company of Elihu Burritt, and enjoyed a delightful run 
to London, where we arrived towards evening. 

At the station-house in London we found the Rev. 
Messrs. Binney and Sherman waiting for us with car- 
riages. C. went with Mr. Sherman, and Mr. S. and 
I soon found ourselves in a charming retreat called 
Rose Cottage, in Walworth, about which I will tell 
you more anon. Mrs. B. received us with every atten- 
tion which the most thoughtful hospitality could sug- 
gest. One of the first things she said to me after we 
got into our room was, " Oh, we are so glad you have 
come ! for we are all going to the lord mayor's dinner 
to-night, and you are invited." So, though I was tired, 
I hurried to dress in all the glee of meeting an adven- 
ture. As soon as Mr. and Mrs. B. and the rest of the 
party were ready, crack went the whip, round went the 
wheels, and away we drove. 

We found a considerable throng, and I was glad to 
accept a seat which was offered me in the agreeable 


vicinity of the lady mayoress, so that I might see what 
would be interesting to me of the ceremonial. 

A very dignified gentleman, dressed in black velvet, 
with a fine head, made his way through the throng, 
and sat down by me, introducing himself as Lord Chief 
Baron Pollock. He told me he had just been reading 
the legal part of the " Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin," 
and remarked especially on the opinion of Judge 
Ruffin, in the case of State v. Mann, as having made 
a deep impression on his mind. 

Dinner was announced between nine and ten o'clock, 
and we were conducted into a splendid hall, where the 
tables were laid. 

Directly opposite me was Mr. Dickens, whom I now 
beheld for the first time, and was surprised to see look- 
ing so young. Mr. Justice Talfourd, known as the 
author of " Ion," was also there with his lady. She 
had a beautiful, antique cast of head. The lord mayor 
was simply dressed in black, without any other adorn- 
ment than a massive gold chain. We rose from table 
between eleven and twelve o'clock — that is, we ladies 
— and went into the drawing-room, where I was pre- 
sented to Mrs. Dickens and several other ladies. Mrs. 
Dickens is a good specimen of a truly English woman ; 
tall, large, and well developed, with fine, healthy color, 
and an air of frankness, cheerfulness, and reliability. 
A friend whispered to me that she was as observing 
and fond of humor as her husband. 

After a while the gentlemen came back to the draw- 
ing-room, and I had a few moments of very pleasant, 
friendly conversation with Mr. Dickens. They are both 
people that one could not know a little of without de- 
siring to know more. 


After a little we began to talk of separating ; the 
lord mayor to take his seat in the House of Commons, 
and the rest of the party to any other engagement that 
might be upon their list. 

. " Come, let us go to the House of Commons," said 
one of my friends, " and make a night of it." " With 
all my heart," replied I, " if I only had another body 
to go into to-morrow." 

What a convenience in sight-seeing it would be if 
one could have a relay of bodies as of clothes, and slip 
from one into the other ! But we, not used to the Lon- 
don style of turning night into day, are full weary 
already. So good-night to you all. 



The Earl of Carlisle. — Arthur Helps. — The Duke and Duch- 
ess op Argyll. — Martin Farquhar Tupper. — A Memorable 
Meeting at Stafford House. — Macaulay and Dean Milman. 
— Windsor Castle. — Professor Stowe returns to America. 
— Mrs. Stowe on the Continent. — Impressions of Paris. — 
En Route to Switzerland and Germany. — Back to Eng- 
land. — Homeward Bound. 

Rose Cottage, Walworth, London, May 2, 1856. 

My dear, — This morning Mrs. Follen called and 
we had quite a chat. We are separated by the whole 
city. She lives at the West End, while I am down here 
in Walworth, which is one of the postscripts of Lon- 
don, for this place has as many postscripts as a lady's 
letter. This evening we dined with the Earl of Carlisle. 
There was no company but ourselves, for he, with great 
consideration, said in his note that he thought a little 
quiet would be the best thing he could offer. 

Lord Carlisle is a great friend to America, and so is 
his sister, the Duchess of Sutherland. He is the only 
English traveler who ever wrote notes on our country 
in a real spirit of appreciation. 

We went about seven o'clock, the dinner hour being 
here somewhere between eight and nine. We were 
shown into an ante-room adjoining the entrance hall, 
and from that into an adjacent apartment, where we 
met Lord Carlisle. The room had a pleasant, social 


air, warmed and enlivened by the blaze of a coal fire 
and wax candles. 

We had never, any of us, met Lord Carlisle before ; 
but the considerateness and cordiality of our reception 
obviated whatever embarrassment there might have 
been in this circumstance. In a few moments after we 
were all seated, a servant announced the Duchess of 
Sutherland, and Lord Carlisle presented me. She is tall 
and stately, with a most noble bearing. Her fair com- 
plexion, blonde hair, and full lips speak of Saxon blood. 

The only person present not of the family connec- 
tion was my quondam correspondent in America, Arthur 
Helps. Somehow or other I had formed the impres- 
sion from his writings that he was a venerable sage of 
very advanced years, who contemplated life as an aged 
hermit from the door of his cell. Conceive my sur- 
prise to find a genial young gentleman of about twenty- 
five, who looked as if he might enjoy a joke as well as 
another man. 

After the ladies left the table, the conversation 
turned on the Maine law, which seems to be considered 
over here as a phenomenon in legislation, and many of 
the gentlemen present inquired about it with great 

After the gentlemen rejoined us, the Duke and 
Duchess of Argyll came in, and Lord and Lady Blan- 
tyre. These ladies are the daughters of the Duchess 
of Sutherland. The Duchess of Argyll is of slight 
and fairy-like figure, with flaxen hair and blue eyes, 
answering well enough to the description of Annot 
Lyle in the Legend of Montrose. Lady Blantyre was 
somewhat taller, of fuller figure, with a very brilliant 


bloom. Lord Blantyre is of the Stuart blood, a tall 
and slender young man with very graceful manners. 

As to the Duke of Argyll, we found that the picture 
drawn of him by his countrymen in Scotland was in 
every way correct. Though slight of figure, with fair 
complexion and blue eyes, his whole appearance is in- 
dicative of energy and vivacity. His talents and effi- 
ciency have made him a member of the British Cabinet 
at a much earlier age than is usual ; and he has dis- 
tinguished himself not only in political life, but as a 
writer, having given to the world a work on Presby- 
terianism, embracing an analysis of the ecclesiastical 
history of Scotland since the Reformation, which is 
spoken of as written with great ability, and in a most 
liberal spirit. He made many inquiries about our dis- 
tinguished men, particularly of Emerson, Longfellow, 
and Hawthorne ; also of Prescott, who appears to be a 
general favorite here. I felt at the moment that we 
never value our own literary men so much as when we 
are placed in a circle of intelligent foreigners. 

The following evening we went to dine with our old 
friends of the Dingle, Mr. and Mrs. Edward Cropper, 
who are now spending a little time in London. We 
were delighted to meet them once more and to hear 
from our Liverpool friends. Mrs. Cropper's father, 
Lord Denman, has returned to England, though with 
no sensible improvement in his health. 

At dinner we were introduced to Lord and Lady 
Hatherton. Lady Hatherton is a person of great culti- 
vation and intelligence, warmly interested in all the 
progressive movements of the day ; and I gained much 
information in her society. There were also present 


Sir Charles and Lady Trevelyan ; the former holds an 
appointment at the treasury, and Lady Trevelyan is a 
sister of Macaulay. 

In the evening quite a circle came in, among others 
Lady Emma Campbell, sister of the Duke of Argyll ; 
the daughters of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who 
very kindly invited me to visit them at Lambeth ; and 
Mr. Arthur Helps, besides many others whose names I 
need not mention. 

May 7. This evening our house was opened in a 
general way for callers, who were coming and going all 
the evening. I think there must have been over two 
hundred people, among them Martin Farquhar Tupper, 
a little man with fresh, rosy complexion and cheery, 
joyous manners ; and Mary Howitt, just such a cheer- 
ful, sensible, fireside companion as we find her in her 
books, — winning love and trust the very first moment 
of the interview. 

The general topic of remark on meeting me seems to 
be, that I am not so bad-looking as they were afraid I 
was ; and I do assure you that when I have seen the 
things that are put up in the shop windows here with 
my name under them, I have been in wondering admi- 
ration at the boundless loving-kindness of my English 
and Scottish friends in keeping up such a warm heart 
for such a Gorgon. I should think that the Sphinx in 
the London Museum might have sat for most of them. 
I am going to make a collection of these portraits to 
bring home to you. There is a great variety of them, 
and they will be useful, like the Irishman's guide-board, 
which showed where the road did not go. 

Before the evening was through I was talked out 


and worn out ; there was hardly a chip of me left. 
To-morrow at eleven o'clock comes the meeting at Staf- 
ford House. What it will amount to I do not know ; 
but I take no thought for the morrow. 

May 8. 

My dear C, — In fulfillment of my agreement I 
will tell you, as nearly as I can remember, all the de- 
tails of the meeting at Stafford House. At about 
eleven o'clock we drove under the arched carriage-way 
of a mansion externally not very showy in appearance. 

When the duchess appeared, I thought she looked 
handsomer by daylight than in the evening. She re- 
ceived us with the same warm and simple kindness 
which she had shown before. We were presented to 
the Duke of Sutherland. He is a tall, slender man, 
with rather a thin face, light-brown hair, and a mild 
blue eye, with an air of gentleness and dignity. 

Among the first that entered were the members of 
the family, the Duke and Duchess of Argyll, Lord and 
Lady Blantyre, the Marquis and Marchioness of Staf- 
ford, and Lady Emma Campbell. Then followed Lord 
Shaftesbury with his beautiful lady, and her father and 
mother, Lord and Lady Palmerston. Lord Palmerston 
is of middle height, with a keen dark eye and black 
hair streaked with gray. There is something peculiarly 
alert and vivacious about all his movements ; in short, 
his appearance perfectly answers to what we know of 
him from his public life. One has a strange, mytho- 
logical feeling about the existence of people of whom 
one hears for many years without ever seeing them. 
While talking with Lord Palmerston I could but re- 
member how often I had heard father and Mr. S. exult- 


ing over his foreign dispatches by our own fireside. 
There were present, also, Lord John Russell, Mr. Glad- 
stone, and Lord Granville. The latter we all thought 
very strikingly resembled in his appearance the poet 

After lunch the whole party ascended to the picture- 
gallery, passing on our way the grand staircase and 
hall, said to be the most magnificent in Europe. The 
company now began to assemble and throng the gallery, 
and very soon the vast room was crowded. Among 
the throng I remember many presentations, but of 
course must have forgotten many more. Archbishop 
Whateley was there, with Mrs. and Miss Whateley ; 
Macaulay, with two of his sisters ; Milman, the poet 
and historian ; the Bishop of Oxford, Chevalier Bunsen 
and lady, and many more. 

When all the company were together, Lord Shaftes- 
bury read a very short, kind, and considerate address 
in behalf of the ladies of England, expressive of their 
cordial welcome. 

This Stafford House meeting, in any view of it, is a 
most remarkable fact. Kind and gratifying as its 
arrangements have been to me, I am far from appro- 
priating it to myself individually as a personal honor. 
I rather regard it as the most public expression possible 
of the feelings of the women of England on one of 
the most important questions of our day, that of indi- 
vidual liberty considered in its religious bearings. 

On this occasion the Duchess of Sutherland presented 
Mrs. Stowe with a superb gold bracelet, made in the 
form of a slave's shackle, bearing the inscription : " We 


trust it is a memorial of a chain that is soon to be 
broken." On two of the links were inscribed the dates 
of the abolition of the slave-trade and of slavery in Eng- 
lish territory. Years after its presentation to her, Mrs. 
Stowe was able to have engraved on the clasp of this 
bracelet, " Constitutional Amendment (forever abolish- 
ing slavery in the United States)." 

Continuing her interesting journal, Mrs. Stowe writes, 
May 9th : — . 

Dear E., — This letter I consecrate to you, because I 
know that the persons and things to be introduced into 
it will most particularly be appreciated by you. 

In your evening reading circles, Macaulay, Sydney 
Smith, and Milman have long been such familiar names 
that you will be glad to go with me over all the scenes 
of my morning breakfast at Sir Charles Trevelyan's 
yesterday. Lady Trevelyan, I believe I have said be- 
fore, is a sister of Macaulay. 

We were set down at Westbourne Terrace some- 
where, I believe, about eleven o'clock, and found quite 
a number already in the drawing-room. I had met 
Macaulay before, but being seated between him and 
Dean Milman, I must confess I was a little embarrassed 
at times, because I wanted to hear what they were both 
saying at the same time. However, by the use of the 
faculty by which you play a piano with both hands, I 
got on very comfortably. 

There were several other persons of note present at 
this breakfast, whose conversation I had not an oppor- 
tunity of hearing, as they sat at a distance from me. 
There was Lord Glenelg, brother of Sir Robert Grant, 


governor of Bombay, whose beautiful hymns have ren- 
dered him familiar in America. The favorite one, com- 

" When gathering clouds around I view," 

was from his pen. 

The historian Hallam was also present, and I think 
it very likely there may have been other celebrities 
whom I did not know. I am always finding out, a day 
or two after, that I have been with somebody very 
remarkable and did not know it at the time. 

Under date of May 18th she writes to her sister 
Mary : — 

Dear M., — I can compare the embarrassment of 
our London life, with its multiplied solicitations and 
infinite stimulants to curiosity and desire, only to that 
annual perplexity which used to beset us in our child- 
hood on Thanksgiving Day. Like Miss Edgeworth's 
philosophic little Frank, we are obliged to make out a 
fist of what man must want, and of what he may want ; 
and in our list of the former we set down, in large and 
decisive characters, one quiet day for the exploration 
and enjoyment of Windsor. 

The ride was done all too soon. About eleven 
o'clock we found ourselves going up the old stone steps 
to the castle. We went first through the state apart- 
ments. The principal thing that interested me was the 
ball-room, which was a perfect gallery of Vandyke's 
paintings. After leaving the ball-room we filed off to 
the proper quarter to show our orders for the private 
rooms. The state apartments, which we had been look- 


ing at, are open at all times, but the private apartments 
can only be seen in the Queen's absence and by a special 
permission, which had been procured for us on that 
occasion by the kindness of the Duchess of Sutherland. 

One of the first objects that attracted my attention 
upon entering the vestibule was a baby's wicker wagon, 
standing in one corner. It was much such a carriage 
as all mothers are familiar with ; such as figures largely 
in the history of almost every family. It had neat cur- 
tains and cushions of green merino, and was not royal, 
only maternal. I mused over the little thing with a 
good deal of interest. 

We went for our dinner to the White Hart, the very 
inn which Shakespeare celebrates in his " Merry Wives," 
and had a most overflowing merry time of it. After 
dinner we had a beautiful drive. 

We were bent upon looking up the church which 
gave rise to Gray's " Elegy in a Country Churchyard," 
intending when we got there to have a little scene over 
it ; Mr. S., in all the conscious importance of having 
been there before, assuring us that he knew exactly 
where it was. So, after some difficulty with our coach- 
man, and being stopped at one church which would not 
answer our purpose in any respect, we were at last set 
down by one which looked authentic; embowered in 
mossy elms, with a most ancient and goblin yew-tree, 
an ivy-mantled tower, all perfect as could be. Here, 
leaning on the old fence, we repeated the Elegy, which 
certainly applies here as beautifully as language could 

Imagine our chagrin, on returning to London, at 
being informed that we had not been to the genuine 


churchyard after all. The gentleman who wept over 
the scenes of his early days on the wrong doorstep was 
not more grievously disappointed. However, he and 
we could both console ourselves with the reflection that 
the emotion was admirable, and wanted only the right 
place to make it the most appropriate in the world. 

The evening after our return from Windsor was 
spent with our kind friends, Mr. and Mrs. Gurney. 
After breakfast the next day, Mr. S., C, and I drove 
out to call upon Kossuth. We found him in an ob- 
scure lodging on the outskirts of London. I would 
that some of the editors in America, who have thrown 
out insinuations about his living in luxury, could have 
seen the utter bareness and plainness of the reception 
room, which had nothing in it beyond the simplest 
necessaries. He entered into conversation with us with 
cheerfulness, speaking English well, though with the 
idioms of foreign languages. When we parted he took 
my hand kindly and said, " God bless you, my child ! " 

I have been quite amused with something which has 
happened lately. This week the " Times " has in- 
formed the United Kingdom that Mrs. Stowe is getting 
a new dress made ! It wants to know if Mrs. Stowe is 
aware what sort of a place her dress is being made in ; 
and there is a letter from a dressmaker's apprentice 
stating that it is being made up piecemeal, in the most 
shockingly distressed dens of London, by poor, miser- 
able white slaves, worse treated than the plantation 
slaves of America ! 

Now Mrs. Stowe did not know anything of this, but 
simply gave the silk into the hands of a friend, and 
was in due time waited on in her own apartment by a 


very respectable-appearing woman, who offered to make 
the dress, and lo, this is the result ! Since the publica- 
tion of this piece, I have received earnest missives, from 
various parts of the country, begging me to interfere, 
hoping that I was not going to patronize the white 
slavery of England, and that I would employ my talents 
equally against oppression in every form. Could these 
people only know in what sweet simplicity I had been 
living in the State of Maine, where the only dressmaker 
of our circle was an intelligent, refined, well-educated 
woman who was considered as the equal of us all, and 
whose spring and fall ministrations to our wardrobe 
were regarded a double pleasure, — a friendly visit as 
well as a domestic assistance, — I say, could they know 
all this, they would see how guiltless I was in the mat- 
ter. I verily never thought but that the nice, pleasant 
person who came to measure me for my silk dress was 
going to take it home and make it herself; it never 
occurred to me that she was the head of an establish- 

May 22, she writes to her husband, whose duties had 
obliged him to return to America : " To-day we went to 
hear a sermon in behalf of the ragged schools by the 
Archbishop of Canterbury. My thoughts have been 
much saddened by the news which I received of the 
death of Mary Edmonson." 

" May 30. The next day from my last letter came 
off Miss Greenfield's concert, of which I send a card. 
You see in what company they have put your poor little 
wife. Funny ! — is n't it ? Well, the Hons. and Right 
Hons. all were there. I sat by Lord Carlisle. 


" After the concert the duchess asked Lady Hather- 
ton and me to come round to Stafford House and take 
tea, which was not a thing to be despised, either on ac- 
count of the tea or the duchess. A lovelier time we 
never had, — present, the Duchess of Argyll, Lady 
Caroline Campbell, Lady Hatherton, and myself. We 
had the nicest cup of tea, with such cream, and grapes 
and apricots, with some Italian bread, etc. 

" When we were going the duchess got me, on some 
pretext, into another room, and came up and put her 
arms round me, with her noble face all full of feeling. 

" ' Oh, Mrs. Stowe, I have been reading that last 
chapter in the " Key " ; Argyll read it aloud to us. 
Oh, surely, surely you will succeed, — God surely will 
bless you ! ' 

" I said then that I thanked her for all her love and 
feeling for us, told her how earnestly all the women of 
England sympathized with her, and many in America. 
She looked really radiant and inspired. Had those 
who hang back from our cause seen her face, it might 
have put a soul into them as she said again, ' It will 
be done — it will be done — oh, I trust and pray it 
may ! ' 

" So we kissed each other, and vowed friendship and 
fidelity — so I came away. 

" To-day I am going with Lord Shaftesbury to St. 
Paul's to see the charity children, after which lunch 
with Dean Milman. 

" May 31. We went to lunch with Miss R. at Ox- 
ford Terrace, where, among a number of distinguished 
guests, was Lady Byron, with whom I had a few mo- 
ments of deeply interesting conversation. No engrav- 


ings that ever have been circulated in America do any 
justice to her appearance. She is of slight figure, 
formed with exceeding delicacy, and her whole form, 
face, dress, and air unite to make an impression of a 
character singularly dignified, gentle, pure, and yet 
strong. No words addressed to me in any conversation 
hitherto have made their way to my inner soul with 
such force as a few remarks dropped by her on the 
present religious aspect of England, — remarks of such 
quality as one seldom hears. 

" According to request, I will endeavor to keep you 
informed of all our goings-on after you left, up to the 
time of our departure for Paris. 

"We have borne in mind your advice to hasten away 
to the Continent. Charles wrote, a day or two since, to 
Mrs. C. at Paris to secure very private lodgings, and 
by no means let any one know that we were coming. 
She has replied urging us to come to her house, and 
promising entire seclusion and rest. So, since you de- 
parted, we have been passing with a kind of compre- 
hensive skip and jump over remaining engagements. 
And just the evening after you left came off the pres- 
entation of the inkstand by the ladies of Surrey Chapel. 

" It is a beautiful specimen of silver-work, eighteen 
inches long, with a group of silver figures on it repre- 
senting Religion, with the Bible in her hand, giving lib- 
erty to the slave. The slave is a masterly piece of work. 
He stands with his hands clasped, looking up to Heaven, 
while a white man is knocking the shackles from his 
feet. But the prettiest part of the scene was the pres- 
entation of a gold pen by a band of beautiful children, 
one of whom made a very pretty speech. I called the 

PARIS. 241 

little tilings to come and stand around me, and talked 
with them a few minutes, and this was all the speaking 
that fell to my share. 

" To-morrow we go — go to quiet, to obscurity, to 
p eace — to Paris, to Switzerland; there we shall find 
the loveliest glen, and, as the Bible says, tf fall on 

" Paris, June 4. Here we are in Paris, in a most 
charming family. I have been out all the morning 
exploring shops, streets, boulevards, and seeing and 
hearing life in Paris. When one has a pleasant home 
and friends to return to, this gay, bustling, vivacious, 
graceful city is one of the most charming things in the 
world ; and we have a most charming home. 

" I wish the children could see these Tuileries with 
their statues and fountains, men, women, and children 
seated in family groups under the trees, chatting, read- 
ing aloud, working muslin, — children driving hoop, 
playing ball, all alive and chattering French. Such 
fresh, pretty girls as are in the shops here ! Je suis 
rave, as they say. In short I am decidedly in a French 
humor, and am taking things quite couleur de rose. 

" Monday, June 13. We went this morning to the 
studio of M. Belloc, who is to paint my portrait. The 
first question which he proposed, with a genuine French 
air, was the question of ' pose ' or position. It was 
concluded that, as other pictures had taken me looking 
at the spectator, this should take me looking away. M. 
Belloc remarked that M. Charpentier said I appeared 
always with the air of an observer, — was always look- 
ing around on everything. Hence M. Belloc would 
take me ' en observatrice, mais pas en curieuse,' — with 


the air of observation, but not of curiosity. By and by 
M. Charpentier came in. He began panegyrizing i Un- 
cle Tom,' and this led to a discussion of the ground of 
its unprecedented success. In his thirty-five years' ex- 
perience as a bookseller, he had known nothing like it. 
It surpassed all modern writings ! At first he would 
not read it ; his taste was for old masters of a century 
or two ago. * Like M. Belloc in painting,' said I. At 
length he found his friend M., the first intelligence of 
the age, reading it. 

"< What, you, too?' said he. 

" < Ah, ah ! ' replied the friend ; ' say nothing about 
this book ! There is nothing like it. This leaves us all 
behind, — all, all, miles behind ! ' 

" M. Belloc said the reason was because there was 
in it more genuine faith than in any book ; and we 
branched off into florid eloquence touching paganism, 
Christianity, and art. 

" Wednesday, June 22. Adieu to Paris ! Ho for 
Chalons-sur-Saone ! After affectionate farewells of our 
kind friends, by eleven o'clock we were rushing, in the 
pleasantest of cars, over the smoothest of rails, through 
Burgundy. We arrived at Chalons at nine p. m. 

" Thursday, 23, eight o'clock a. m. Since five we 
have had a fine bustle on the quay below our win- 
dows. There lay three steamers, shaped for all the 
world like our .last night's rolls. One would think 
Ichabod Crane might sit astride one of them and dip 
his feet in the water. They ought to be swift. L'Hi- 
rondelle (The Swallow) flew at five ; another at six. 
We leave at nine. 

" Lyons. There was a scene of indescribable conf u- 


sion upon our arrival here. Out of the hold of our 
steamer a man with a rope and hook began hauling 
baggage up a smooth board. Three hundred people 
were sorting their goods without checks. Porters were 
shouldering immense loads, four or five heavy trunks 
at once, corded together, and stalking off Atlantean. 
Hat-boxes, bandboxes, and valises burst like a meteoric 
shower out of a crater. i A moi, a moi ! ' was the cry, 
from old men, young women, soldiers, shopkeepers, and 
freres, scuffling and shoving together. 

" Saturday, June 25. Lyons to Geneve. As this 
was our first experience in the diligence line, we noticed 
particularly every peculiarity. I had had the idea that 
a diligence was a ricketty, slow-moulded antediluvian 
nondescript, toiling patiently along over impassable 
roads at a snail's pace. Judge of my astonishment at 
finding it a full-blooded, vigorous monster, of unscru- 
pulous railway momentum and imperturbable equipoise 
of mind. Down the macadamized slopes we thundered 
at a prodigious pace ; up the hills we trotted, with six 
horses, three abreast; madly through the little towns 
we burst, like a whirlwind, crashing across the pebbled 
streets, and out upon the broad, smooth road again. 
Before we had well considered the fact that we were out 
of Lyons we stopped to change horses. Done in a jiffy ; 
and whoop, crick, crack, whack, rumble, bump, whirr, 
whisk, away we blazed, till, ere we knew it, another 
change and another. 

" As evening drew on, a wind sprang up and a storm 
seemed gathering on the Jura. The rain dashed 
against the panes of the berlin as we rode past the 
grim-faced monarch of the ' misty shroud.' It was 


night as we drove into Geneva and stopped at the Mes- 
sagerie. I heard with joy a voice demanding if tins 
were Madame Besshare. I replied, not without some 
scruples of conscience, ' Oui, Monsieur, c'est moi,' 
though the name did not sound exactly like the one to 
which I had been wont to respond. In half an hour 
we were at home in the mansion of Monsieur Fazy." 

From Geneva the party made a tour of the Swiss 
Alps, spending some weeks among them. While there 
Charles Beecher wrote from a small hotel at the foot of 
the Jura : — 

" The people of the neighborhood, having discovered 
who Harriet was, were very kind, and full of delight at 
seeing her. It was Scotland over again. We have had 
to be unflinching to prevent her being overwhelmed, 
both in Paris and Geneva, by the same demonstrations 
of regard. To this we were driven, as a matter of life 
and death. It was touching to listen to the talk of 
these secluded mountaineers. The good hostess, even 
the servant maids, hung about Harriet, expressing such 
tender interest for the slave. All had read * Uncle 
Tom ; ' and it had apparently been an era in their 
life's monotony, for they said, ' Oh, madam, do write 
another ! Remember, our winter nights here are very 
long ! ' " 

Upon their return to Geneva they visited the Castle 
of Chillon, of which, in describing the dungeons, Mrs. 
Stowe writes : — 

" One of the pillars in this vault is covered with names. 
I think it is Bonnevard's Pillar. There are the names 
of Byron, Hunt, Schiller, and ever so many more celeb- 
rities. As we were going from the cell our conductress 


seemed to have a sudden light upon her mind. She 
asked a question or two of some of our party, and fell 
upon me vehemently to put my name also there. Char- 
ley scratched it on the soft freestone, and there it is for 
future ages. The lady could scarce repress her enthu- 
siasm ; she shook my hand over and over again, and 
said she had read ( Uncle Tom.' ' It is beautiful,' she 
said, ' but it is cruel.' 

"Monday, July 18. Weather suspicious. Stowed 
ourselves and our baggage into our voiture, and bade 
adieu to our friends and to Geneva. Ah, how regret- 
fully ! From the market-place we carried away a bas- 
ket of cherries and fruit as a consolation. Dined at 
Lausanne, and visited the cathedral and picture-gallery, 
where was an exquisite Eva. Slept at Meudon. 

" Tuesday, Jidy 19. Rode through Payerne to 
Freyburg. Stopped at the Zahringer Hof , — most ro- 
mantic of inns. 

" Wednesday, July 20. Examined, not the lions, 
but the bears of Berne. Engaged a voiture and drove 
to Thun. Dined and drove by the shore of the lake to 
Interlachen, arriving just after a brilliant sunset. 

" We crossed the Wengern Alps to Grindelwald. 
The Jungf rau is right over against us, — her glaciers 
purer, tenderer, more dazzlingly beautiful, if possible, 
than those of Mont Blanc. Slept at Grindelwald." 

From Rosenlaui, on this journey, Charles Beecher 
writes : — 

" Friday, July 22. Grindelwald to Meyringen. On 
we came, to the top of the Great Schiedeck, where H. 
and W. botanized, while I slept. Thence we rode down 
the mountain till we reached Rosenlaui, where, I am 


free to say, a dinner was to me a more interesting 1 ob- 
ject than a glacier. Therefore, while H. and W. went 
to the latter, I turned off to the inn, amid their cries 
and reproaches. 

" Here, then, I am, writing these notes in the salle 
a manger of the inn, where other voyagers are eating 
and drinking, and there is H. feeding on the green 
moonshine of an emerald ice cave. One would almost 
think her incapable of fatigue. How she skips up and 
down high places and steep places, to the manifest 
perplexity of the honest guide Kienholz, pere, who 
tries to take care of her, but does not exactly know 
how ! She gets on a pyramid of debris, which the edge 
of the glacier is plowing and grinding up, sits down, 
and falls — not asleep exactly, but into a trance. W. 
and I are ready to go on : we shout ; our voice is lost 
in the roar of the torrent. We send the guide. He 
goes down, and stands doubtfully. He does not know 
exactly what to do. She hears him, and starts to her 
feet, pointing with one hand to yonder peak, and with 
the other to that knife-like edge that seems cleaving 
heaven with its keen and glistening cimeter of snow, 
reminding one of Isaiah's sublime imagery, ' For my 
sword is bathed in heaven.' She points at the grizzly 
rocks, with their jags and spear-points. Evidently she 
is beside herself, and thinks she can remember the 
names of those monsters, born of earthquake and storm, 
which cannot be named nor known but by sight, and 
then are known at once perfectly and forever." 

After traveling through Germany, Belgium, and 
Holland, the party returned to Paris toward the end of 
August, from which place Mrs. Stowe writes : — 


" I am seated in a snug little room at M. Belloc's. 
The weather is overpoweringly hot, but these Parisian 
houses seem to have seized and imprisoned coolness. 
French household ways are delightful. I like their 
seclusion from the street by these deep-pan ed quad- 

" Madame Belloc was the translator of Maria Edge- 
worth, by that lady's desire ; corresponded with her for 
years, and still has many of her letters. Her transla- 
tion of ' Uncle Tom ' has to me all the merit and all the 
interest of an original composition. In perusing it, I 
enjoy the pleasure of reading the story with scarce any 
consciousness of its ever having been mine." 

The next letter is from London en route for America, 
to which passage had been engaged on the Collins 
steamer Arctic. In it Mrs. Stowe writes : — 

"London, August 28. Our last letters from home 
changed all our plans. We concluded to hurry away 
by the next steamer, if at that late hour we could get a 
passage. We were all in a bustle. The last shoppings 
for aunts, cousins, and little folks were to be done by us 
all. The Palais Royal was to be rummaged ; bronzes, 
vases, statuettes, bonbons, playthings, — all that the end- 
less fertility of France could show, — was to be looked 
over for the ' folks at home.' 

" How we sped across the Channel C. relates. We 
are spending a few very pleasant days with our kind 
friends the L.'s, in London. 

" On board the Arctic, September 7. On Thurs- 
day, September 1, we reached York, and visited the 
beautiful ruins of St. Mary's Abbey, and the magnifi- 
cent cathedral. It rained with inflexible pertinacity 


during all the time we were there, and the next day it 
rained still, when we took the cars for Castle Howard 

" Lady Carlisle welcomed us most affectionately, and 
we learned that, had we not been so reserved at the 
York station in concealing our names, we should have 
received a note from her. However, as we were safely 
arrived, it was of no consequence. 

" Our friends spoke much of Sumner and Prescott, 
who had visited there ; also of Mr. Lawrence, our for- 
mer ambassador, who had visited them just before his 
return. After a very pleasant day, we left with regret 
the warmth of this hospitable circle, thus breaking one 
more of the links that bind us to the English shore. 

" Nine o'clock in the evening found us sitting by a 
cheerful fire in the parlor of Mr. E. Baines at Leeds. 
The next day the house was filled with company, and 
the Leeds offering was presented. 

" Tuesday we parted from our excellent friends in 
Leeds, and soon found ourselves once more in the beau- 
tiful " Dingle," our first and last resting-place on Eng- 
lish shores. 

" A deputation from Belfast, Ireland, here met me, 
presenting a beautiful bog-oak casket, lined with gold, 
and carved with appropriate national symbols, contain- 
ing an offering for the cause of the oppressed. They 
read a beautiful address, and touched upon the impor- 
tance of inspiring with the principles of emancipation 
the Irish nation, whose influence in our land is becom- 
ing so great. Had time and strength permitted, it had 
been my purpose to visit Ireland, to revisit Scotland, 
and to see more of England. But it is not in man that 


walketh to direct his steps. And now came parting, 
leave-taking, last letters, notes, and messages. 

" Thus, almost sadly as a child might leave its home, 
I left the shores of kind, strong Old England, — the 
mother of us all." 


HOME AGAIN, 1853-1856. 

Anti-Slavery Work. — Stirring Times in the United States. — 
Address to the Ladies of Glasgow. — Appeal to the Women 
of America. — Correspondence with William Lloyd Garri- 
son. — The Writing of " Dred." — Farewell Letter from 
Georgiana May. — Second Voyage to England. 

After her return in the autumn of 1853 from her 
European tour, Mrs. Stowe threw herself heart and 
soul into the great struggle with slavery. Much of her 
time was occupied in distributing over a wide area of 
country the English gold with which she had been in- 
trusted for the advancement of the cause. With this 
money she assisted in the redemption of slaves whose 
cases were those of peculiar hardship, and helped estab- 
lish them as free men. She supported anti-slavery 
lectures wherever they w r ere most needed, aided in 
establishing and maintaining anti-slavery publications, 
founded and assisted in supporting schools in which 
colored people might be taught how to avail themselves 
of the blessings of freedom. She arranged public meet- 
ings, and prepared many of the addresses that should be 
delivered at them. She maintained such an extensive 
correspondence with persons of all shades of opinion in 
all parts of the world, that the letters received and 
answered by her between 1853 and 1856 would fill vol- 
umes. With all these multifarious interests, her chil- 


dren received a full share of her attention, nor were her 
literary activities relaxed. 

Immediately upon the completion of her European 
tour, her experiences were published in the form of a 
journal, both in this country and England, under the 
title of " Sunny Memories." She also revised and 
elaborated the collection of sketches which had been 
published by the Harpers in 1843, under title of " The 
Mayflower," and having purchased the plates caused 
them to be republished in 1855 by Phillips & Samp- 
son, the successors of John P. Jewett & Co., in this 
country, and by Sampson Low & Co. in London. 

Soon after her return to America, feeling that she 
owed a debt of gratitude to her friends in Scotland, 
which her feeble health had not permitted her ade- 
quately to express while with them, Mrs. Stowe wrote 
the following open letter : — 

To the Ladies' Anti-Slavery Society oe Glasgow : 

Dear Friends, — I have had many things in my 
mind to say to you, which it was my hope to have said 
personally, but which I am now obliged to say by letter. 

I have had many fears that you must have thought 
our intercourse, during the short time that I was in 
Glasgow, quite unsatisfactory. 

At the time that I accepted your very kind invita- 
tion, I was in tolerable health, and supposed that I 
should be in a situation to enjoy society, and mingle as 
much in your social circles as you might desire. 

When the time came for me to fulfil my engagement 
with you, I was, as you know, confined to my bed with 
a sickness brought on by the exertion of getting the 


" Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin " through the press dur- 
ing- the winter. 

In every part of the world the story of " Uncle Tom " 
had awakened sympathy for the American slave, and 
consequently in every part of the world the story of his 
wrongs had been denied ; it had been asserted to be a 
mere work of romance, and I was charged with being 
the slanderer of the institutions of my own country. I 
knew that if I shrank from supporting my position, the 
sympathy which the work had excited would gradually 
die out, and the whole thing would be looked upon as 
a mere romantic excitement of the passions. 

When I came abroad, I had not the slightest idea of 
the kind of reception which was to meet me in England 
and Scotland. I had thought of something involving 
considerable warmth, perhaps, and a good deal of cor- 
diality and feeling on the part of friends ; but of the 
general extent of feeling through society, and of the 
degree to which it would be publicly expressed, I had, 
I may say, no conception. 

As through your society I was invited to your coun- 
try, it may seem proper that what communication I have 
to make to friends in England and Scotland should be 
made through you. 

In the first place, then, the question will probably 
arise in your minds, Have the recent demonstrations in 
Great Britain done good to the anti-slavery cause in 
America ? 

The first result of those demonstrations, as might 
have been expected, was an intense reaction. Every 
kind of false, evil, and malignant report has been circu- 
lated by malicious and partisan papers ; and if there is 


any blessing in having all manner of evil said against 
us falsely, we have seemed to be in a fair way to come 
in possession of it. 

The sanction which was given in this matter to the 
voice of the people, by the nobility of England and 
Scotland, has been regarded and treated with special 
rancor ; and yet, in its place, it has been particularly 
important. Without it great advantages would have 
been taken to depreciate the value of the national testi- 
mony. The value of this testimony in particular will 
appear from the fact that the anti-slavery cause has 
been treated with especial contempt by the leaders of 
society in this country, and every attempt made to 
brand it with ridicule. 

The effect of making a cause generally unfashionable 
is much greater in this world than it ought to be. It 
operates very powerfully with the young and impressi- 
ble portion of the community ; therefore Cassius M. 
Clay very well said with regard to the demonstration at 
Stafford House : " It will help our cause by rendering 
it fashionable." 

With regard to the present state of the anti-slavery 
cause in America, I think, for many reasons, that it has 
never been more encouraging. It is encouraging in 
this respect, that the* subject is now fairly up for in- 
quiry before the public mind. And that systematic 
effort which has been made for years to prevent its 
being discussed is proving wholly ineffectual. 

The " Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin " has sold exten- 
sively at the South, following in the wake of " Uncle 
Tom." Not one fact or statement in it has been dis- 
proved as yet. I have yet to learn of even an attempt 
to disprove. 


The " North American Review," a periodical which 
has never been favorable to the discussion of the slavery 
question, has come out with a review of " Uncle Tom's 
Cabin," in which, while rating the book very low as a 
work of art, they account for its great circulation and 
success by the fact of its being a true picture of slavery. 
They go on to say that the system is one so inherently 
abominable that, unless slaveholders shall rouse them- 
selves and abolish the principle of chattel ownership, 
they can no longer sustain themselves under the con- 
tempt and indignation of the whole civilized world. 
What are the slaveholders to do when this is the best 
their friends and supporters can say for them ? 

I regret to say that the movements of Christian de- 
nominations on this subject are yet greatly behind 
what they should be. Some movements have been 
made by religious bodies, of which I will not now 
speak ; but as a general thing the professed Christian 
church is pushed up to its duty by the world, rather 
than the world urged on by the church. 

The colored people in this country are rapidly rising 
in every respect. I shall request Frederick Douglass 
to send you the printed account of the recent colored 
convention. It would do credit to any set of men 
whatever, and I hope you will get some notice taken of 
it in the papers of the United Kingdom. It is time 
that the slanders against this unhappy race should be 
refuted, and it should be seen how, in spite of every 
social and political oppression, they are rising in the 
scale of humanity. In my opinion they advance quite 
as fast as any of the foreign races which have found 
an asylum among us. 


May God so guide us in all things that our good be 
not evil spoken of, and that we be left to defend noth- 
ing which is opposed to his glory and the good of 
man ! Yours in all sympathy, 

H. B. Stowe. 

During the Kansas and Nebraska agitation (1853- 
54), Mrs. Stowe, in common with the abolitionists of 
the North, was deeply impressed with a solemn sense 
that it was a desperate crisis in the nation's history. 
She was in constant correspondence with Charles Sum- 
ner and other distinguished statesmen of the time, and 
kept herself informed as to the minutest details of the 
struggle. At this time she wrote and caused to be 
circulated broadcast the following appeal to the women 
of America : — 

" The Providence of God has brought our nation to 
a crisis of most solemn interest. 

" A question is now pending in our national legisla- 
ture which is most vitally to affect the temporal and 
eternal interests, not only of ourselves, but of our chil- 
dren and our children's children for ages yet unborn. 
Through our nation it is to affect the interests of lib- 
erty and Christianity throughout the world. 

" Of the woes, the injustice, and the misery of slavery 
it is not needful to speak. There is but one feeling 
and one opinion upon this subject among us all. I do 
not think there is a mother who clasps her child to her 
breast who would ever be made to feel it right that 
that child should be a slave, not a mother among us 
who would not rather lay that child in its grave. 

" Nor can I believe that there is a woman so un- 


christian as to think it right to inflict upon her neigh- 
bor's child what she would consider worse than death 
were it inflicted upon her own. I do not believe there 
is a wife who would think it right that her husband 
should be sold to a trader to be worked all his life 
without wages or a recognition of rights. I do not 
believe there is a husband who would consider it right 
that his wife should be regarded by law the property 
of another man. I do not believe there is a father or 
mother who would consider it right were they forbid- 
den by law to teach their children to read. I do not 
believe there is a brother who would think it right to 
have his sister held as property, with no legal defense 
for her personal honor, by any man living. 

" All this is inherent in slavery. It is not the abuse 
of slavery, but its legal nature. And there is not a 
woman in the United States, where the question is fairly 
put to her, who thinks these things are right. 

" But though our hearts have bled over this wrong, 
there have been many things tending to fetter our 
hands, to perplex our efforts, and to silence our voice. 
We have been told that to speak of it was an invasion 
of the rights of states. We have heard of promises 
and compacts, and the natural expression of feeling has 
in many cases been repressed by an appeal to those 
honorable sentiments which respect the keeping of 

" But a time has now come when the subject is aris- 
ing under quite a different aspect. 

" The question is not now, shall the wrongs of slavery 
exist as they have within their own territories, but 
shall we permit them to be extended all over the free 


territories of the United States ? Shall the woes and 
the miseries of slavery be extended over a region of 
fair, free, unoccupied territory nearly equal in extent 
to the whole of the free States ? 

" Nor is this all ! This is not the last thing that is 
expected or intended. Should this movement be sub- 
mitted to in silence, should the North consent to this 
solemn breach of contract on the part of the South, 
there yet remains one more step to be apprehended, 
namely, the legalizing of slavery throughout the free 
States. By a decision of the supreme court in the 
Lemmon case, it may be declared lawful for slave prop- 
erty to be held in the Northern States. Should this 
come to pass, it is no more improbable that there may 
be four years hence slave depots in New York city 
than it was four years ago that the South would pro- 
pose a repeal of the Missouri Compromise. 

" Women of the free States ! the question is not 
shall we remonstrate with slavery on its own soil, but 
are we willing to receive slavery into the free States 
and Territories of this Union ? Shall the whole power 
of these United States go into the hands of slavery ? 
Shall every State in the Union be thrown open to 
slavery ? This is the possible result and issue of the 
question now pending. This is the fearful crisis at 
which we stand. 

" And now you ask, What can the women of a coun- 
try do ? 

" women of the free States ! what did your brave 
mothers do in the days of our Revolution ? Did not 
liberty in those days feel the strong impulse of woman's 
heart ? 


" There was never a great interest agitating a com- 
munity where woman's influence was not felt for 
good or for evil. At the time when the abolition of 
the slave - trade was convulsing England, women con- 
tributed more than any other laborers to that great 
triumph of humanity. The women of England refused 
to receive into their houses the sugar raised by slaves. 
Seventy thousand families thus refused the use of sugar 
in testimony of their abhorrence of the manner in 
which it was produced. At that time women were un- 
wearied in going from house to house distributing 
books and tracts upon the subject, and presenting it 
clearly and forcibly to thousands of families who would 
otherwise have disregarded it. 

" The women all over England were associated in 
corresponding circles for prayer and labor. Petitions 
to the government were prepared and signed by women 
of every station in all parts of the kingdom. 

" Women of America ! we do not know with what 
thrilling earnestness the hopes and the eyes of the 
world are fastened upon our country, and how intense 
is the desire that we should take a stand for universal 
liberty. When I was in England, although I distinctly 
stated that the raising of money was no part of my ob- 
ject there, it was actually forced upon me by those who 
could not resist the impulse to do something for this 
great cause. Nor did it come from the well-to-do 
alone ; but hundreds of most affecting letters were 
received from poor working men and women, who in- 
closed small sums in postage-stamps to be devoted to 
freeing slaves. 

" Nor is this deep feeling confined to England alone. 


I found it in France, Switzerland, and Germany. Why 
do foreign lands regard us with this intensity of in- 
terest ? Is it not because the whole world looks hope- 
fully toward America as a nation especially raised by 
God to advance the cause of human liberty and re- 

" There has been a universal expectation that the 
next step taken by America would surely be one that 
should have a tendency to right this great wrong. 
Those who are struggling for civil and religious liberty 
in Europe speak this word ' slavery ' in sad whispers, as 
one names a fault of a revered friend. They can scarce 
believe the advertisements in American papers of slave 
sales of men, women, and children, traded like cattle. 
Scarcely can they trust their eyes when they read the 
laws of the slave States, and the decisions of their 
courts. The advocates of despotism hold these things 
up to them and say : i See what comes of republican 
liberty ! ' Hitherto the answer has been, i America is 
more than half free, and she certainly will in time 
repudiate slavery altogether.' 

" But what can they say now if, just as the great 
struggle for human rights is commencing throughout 
Europe, America opens all her Territories to the most 
unmitigated despotism ? 

"While all the nations of Europe are thus moved 
on the subject of American slavery, shall we alone re- 
main unmoved ? Shall we, the wives, mothers, and 
sisters of America, remain content with inaction in such 
a crisis as this ? 

" The first duty of every American woman at this 
time is to thoroughly understand the subject for her- 


self, and to feel that she is bound to use her influence 
for the right. Then they can obtain signatures to 
petitions to our national legislature. They can spread 
information upon this vital topic throughout their 
neighborhoods. They can employ lecturers to lay the 
subject before the people. They can circulate the 
speeches of their members of Congress that bear upon 
the subject, and in many other ways they can secure to 
all a full understanding of the present position of our 

" Above all, it seems to be necessary and desirable 
that we should make this subject a matter of earnest 
prayer. A conflict is now begun between the forces 
of liberty and despotism throughout the whole world. 
We who are Christians, and believe in the sure word 
of prophecy, know that fearful convulsions and over- 
turnings are predicted before the coming of Him who 
is to rule the earth in righteousness. How important, 
then, in this crisis, that all who believe in prayer should 
retreat beneath the shadow of the Almighty ! 

" It is a melancholy but unavoidable result of such 
great encounters of principle that they tend to de- 
generate into sectional and personal bitterness. It is 
this liability that forms one of the most solemn and 
affecting features of the crisis now presented. We are 
on the eve of a conflict which will try men's souls, and 
strain to the utmost the bonds of brotherly union that 
bind this nation together. 

" Let us, then, pray that in the agitation of this ques- 
tion between the North and the South the war of prin- 
ciple may not become a mere sectional conflict, degen- 
erating into the encounter of physical force. Let us 


raise our hearts to Him who has the power to restrain 
the wrath of men, that He will avert the consequences 
that our sins as a nation so justly deserve. 

" There are many noble minds in the South who do 
not participate in the machinations of their political 
leaders, and whose sense of honor and justice is out- 
raged by this proposition equally with our own. While, 
then, we seek to sustain the cause of freedom unwaver- 
ingly, let us also hold it to be our office as true women 
to moderate the acrimony of political contest, remem- 
bering that the slaveholder and the slave are alike our 
brethren, whom the law of God commands us to love as 

" For the sake, then, of our dear children, for the 
sake of our common country, for the sake of outraged 
and struggling liberty throughout the world, let every 
woman of America now do her duty." 

At this same time Mrs. Stowe found herself engaged 
in an active correspondence with William Lloyd Garri- 
son, much of which appeared in the columns of his 
paper, the " Liberator." Late in 1853 she writes to 
him : — 

" In regard to you, your paper, and in some meas- 
ure your party, I am in an honest embarrassment. I 
sympathize with you fully in many of your positions. 
Others I consider erroneous, hurtful to liberty and the 
progress of humanity. Nevertheless, I believe you and 
those who support them to be honest and conscientious 
in your course and opinions. What I fear is that your 
paper will take from poor Uncle Tom his Bible, and 
give him nothing in its place." 

To this Mr. Garrison answers : " I do not understand 


why the imputation is thrown upon the l Liberator ' as 
tending to rob Uncle Tom of his Bible. I know of 
no writer in its pages who wishes to deprive him of it, 
or of any comfort he may derive from it. It is for him 
to place whatever estimate he can upon it, and for you 
and me to do the same ; but for neither of us to accept 
any more of it than we sincerely believe to be in accord- 
ance with reason, truth, and eternal right. How much 
of it is true and obligatory, each one can determine 
only for himself; for on Protestant ground there is no 
room for papal infallibility. All Christendom professes 
to believe in the inspiration of the volume, and at the 
same time all Christendom is by the ears as to its real 
teachings. Surely you would not have me disloyal to 
my conscience. How do you prove that you are not 
trammeled by educational or traditional notions as to 
the entire sanctity of the book ? Indeed, it seems to 
me very evident that you are not free in spirit, in view 
of the apprehension and sorrow you feel because you 
find your conceptions of the Bible controverted in the 
' Liberator,' else why such disquietude of mind ? 
* Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just.' ' 
In answer to this Mrs. Stowe writes : — 

I did not reply to your letter immediately, because I 
did not wish to speak on so important a subject unad- 
visedly, or without proper thought and reflection. The 
greater the interest involved in a truth the more care- 
ful, self-distrustful, and patient should be the inquiry. 

I would not attack the faith of a heathen without 
being sure I had a better one to put in its place, be- 
cause, such as it is, it is better than nothing. I notice 


in Mr. Parker's sermons a very eloquent passage on the 
uses and influences of the Bible. He considers it to 
embody absolute and perfect religion, and that no bet- 
ter mode for securing present and eternal happiness can 
be found than in the obedience to certain religious pre- 
cepts therein recorded. He would have it read and 
circulated, and considers it, as I infer, a Christian duty 
to send it to the heathen, the slave, etc. I presume 
you agree with him. 

These things being supposed about the Bible would 
certainly make it appear that, if any man deems it his 
duty to lessen its standing in the eyes of the commu- 
nity, he ought at least to do so in a cautious and rever- 
ential spirit, with humility and prayer. 

My objection to the mode in which these things are 
handled in the " Liberator " is that the general tone 
and spirit seem to me the reverse of this. If your 
paper circulated only among those of disciplined and 
cultivated minds, skilled to separate truth from false- 
hood, knowing where to go for evidence and how to 
satisfy the doubts you raise, I should feel less regret. 
But your name and benevolent labors have given your 
paper a circulation among the poor and lowly. They 
have no means of investigating, no habits of reasoning. 
The Bible, as they at present understand it, is doing 
them great good, and is a blessing to them and their 
families. The whole tendency of your mode of pro- 
ceeding is to lessen their respect and reverence for the 
Bible, without giving them anything in its place. 

I have no fear of discussion as to its final results on 
the Bible ; my only regrets are for those human beings 
whose present and immortal interests I think compro- 


mised by this manner of discussion. Discussion of the 
evidence of the authenticity and inspiration of the 
Bible and of all theology will come more and more, 
and I rejoice that they will. But I think they must 
come, as all successful inquiries into truth must, in a 
calm, thoughtful, and humble spirit; not with bold 
assertions, hasty generalizations, or passionate appeals. 

I appreciate your good qualities none the less though 
you differ with me on this point. I believe you to be 
honest and sincere. In Mr. Parker's works I have 
found much to increase my respect and esteem for him 
as a man. He comes to results, it is true, to which it 
would be death and utter despair for me to arrive at. 
Did I believe as he does about the Bible and Jesus, I 
were of all creatures most miserable, because I could 
not love God. I could find no God to love. I would 
far rather never have been born. 

As to you, my dear friend, you must own that my 
frankness to you is the best expression of my confi- 
dence in your honor and nobleness. Did I not believe 
that " an excellent spirit " is in you, I would not take 
the trouble to write all this. If in any points in this 
note I appear to have misapprehended or done you in- 
justice, I hope you will candidly let me know where and 
how. Truly your friend, 

H. B. Stowe. 

In addition to these letters the following extracts 
from a subsequent letter to Mr. Garrison are given to 
show in what respect their fields of labor differed, and 
to present an idea of what Mrs. Stowe was doing for 
the cause of freedom besides writing against slavery : — 



Andover, Mass., February 18, 1854. 

Dear Friend, — I see and sincerely rejoice in the 
result of your lecture in New York. I am increasingly 
anxious that all who hate slavery be united, if not in 
form, at least in fact, — a unity in difference. Our 
field lies in the church, and as yet I differ from you as 
to what may be done and hoped there. Brother Ed- 
ward (Beecher) has written a sermon that goes to the 
very root of the decline of moral feeling in the church. 
As soon as it can be got ready for the press I shall 
have it printed, and shall send a copy to every minister 
in the country. 

Our lectures have been somewhat embarrassed by a 
pressure of new business brought upon us by the 
urgency of the Kansas-Nebraska question. Since we 
began, however, brother Edward has devoted his whole 
time to visiting, consultation, and efforts the result of 
which will shortly be given to the public. We are try- 
ing to secure a universal arousing of the pulpit. 

Dr. Bacon's letter is noble. You must think so. It 
has been sent to every member of Congress. Dr. 
Kirk's sermon is an advance, and his congregation 
warmly seconded it. Now, my good friend, be willing 
to see that the church is better than you have thought 
it. Be not unwilling to see some good symptoms, and 
hope that even those who see not at all at first will 
gain as they go on. I am acting on the conviction 
that you love the cause better than self. If anything 
can be done now advantageously by the aid of money, 
let me know. God has given me some power in this 
way, though I am too feeble to do much otherwise. 
Yours for the cause, H. B. Stowe. 


Although the demand was very great upon Mrs. 
Stowe for magazine and newspaper articles, many of 
which she managed to write in 1854-55, she had in 
her mind at this time a new book which should be 
in many respects the complement of " Uncle Tom's 
Cabin." In preparing her Key to the latter work, she 
had collected much new material. In 1855, therefore, 
and during the spring of 1856, she found time to 
weave these hitherto unused facts into the story of 
" Dred." In her preface to the English edition of this 
book she writes : — 

" The author's object in this book is to show the gen- 
eral effect of slavery on society ; the various social dis- 
advantages which it brings, even to its most favored 
advocates; the shiftlessness and misery and backward 
tendency of all the economical arrangements of slave 
States ; the retrograding of good families into poverty ; 
the deterioration of land ; the worse demoralization of 
all classes, from the aristocratic, tyrannical planter to 
the oppressed and poor white, which is the result of the 
introduction of slave labor. 

" It is also an object to display the corruption of 
Christianity which arises from the same source ; a cor- 
ruption that has gradually lowered the standard of the 
church, North and South, and been productive of more 
infidelity than the works of all the encyclopaedists put 

The story of " Dred " was suggested by the famous 
negro insurrection, led by Nat Turner, in Eastern Vir- 
ginia in 1831. In this affair one of the principal par- 
ticipators was named " Dred." An interesting incident 
connected with the writing of " Dred " is vividly remem- 
bered by Mrs. Stowe's daughters. 


One sultry summer night there arose a terrific thun- 
der-storm, with continuous flashes of lightning and 
incessant rumbling and muttering of thunder, every 
now and then breaking out into sharp, crashing reports 
followed by torrents of rain. 

The two young girls, trembling with fear, groped 
their way down-stairs to their mother's room, and on 
entering found her lying quietly in bed awake, and 
calmly watching the storm from the windows, the shades 
being up. She expressed no surprise on seeing them, 
but said that she had not been herself in the least 
frightened, though intensely interested in watching the 
storm. " I have been writing a description of a thun- 
der-storm for my book, and I am watching to see if I 
need to correct it in any particular." Our readers will 
be interested to know that she had so well described a 
storm from memory that even this vivid object-lesson 
brought with it no new suggestions. This scene is to 
be found in the twenty-fourth chapter of " Dred," — 
" Life in the Swamps." 

" The day had been sultry and it was now an hour 
or two past midnight, when a thunder-storm, which had 
long been gathering and muttering in the distant sky, 
began to develop its forces. A low, shivering sigh 
crept through the woods, and swayed in weird whist- 
lings the tops of the pines ; and sharp arrows of light- 
ning came glittering down among the branches, as if 
sent from the bow of some warlike angel. An army 
of heavy clouds swept in a moment across the moon ; 
then came a broad, dazzling, blinding sheet of flame." 

What particularly impressed Mrs. Stowe's daughters 
at the time was their mother's perfect calmness, and the 


minute study of the storm. She was on the alert to 
detect anything which might lead her to correct her 

Of this new story Charles Summer wrote from the 
senate chamber : — 

My dear Mrs. Stowe, — I am rejoiced to learn, 
from your excellent sister here, that you are occupied 
with another tale exposing slavery. I feel that it will 
act directly upon pending questions, and help us in our 
struggle for Kansas, and also to overthrow the slave- 
oligarchy in the coming Presidential election. We 
need your help at once in our struggle. 

Ever sincerely yours, Charles Sumner. 

Having finished this second great story of slavery, in 
the early summer of 1856 Mrs. Stowe decided to visit 
Europe again, in search of a much-needed rest. She 
also found it necessary to do so in order to secure the 
English right to her book, which she had failed to do 
on " Uncle Tom's Cabin." 

Just before sailing she received the following touch- 
ing letter from her life-long friend, Georgiana May. 
It is the last one of a series that extended without 
interruption over a period of thirty years, and as such 
has been carefully cherished : — 

Ocean House, Groton Point, July 26, 1856. 

Dear Hattie, — Very likely it is too late for me to 
come with my modest knock to your study door, and 
ask to be taken in for a moment, but I do so want to 
bless you before you go, and I have not been well 
enough to write until to-day. It seems just as if I 


could not let you go till I have seen once more your 
face in the flesh, for great uncertainties hang over my 
future. One thing, however, is certain : whichever of 
us two gets first to the farther shore of the great ocean 
between us and the unseen will be pretty sure to be at 
hand to welcome the other. It is not poetry, but sol- 
emn verity between us that we shall meet again. 

But there is nothing morbid or morbific going into 
these few lines. I have made " Old Tiff's " acquaint- 
ance. He is a verity, — will stand up with Uncle Tom 
and Topsy, pieces of negro property you will be guilty 
of holding after you are dead. Very likely your chil- 
dren may be selling them. 

Hattie, I rejoice over this completed work. Another 
work for God and your generation. I am glad that 
you have come out of it alive, that you have pleasure 
in prospect, that you " walk at liberty " and have done 
with " fits of languishing." Perhaps some day I shall 
be set free, but the prospect does not look promising, 
except as I have full faith that " the Good Man above 
is looking on, and will bring it all round right." Still 
" heart and flesh " both " fail me." He will be the 
"strength of my heart," and I never seem to doubt 
" my portion forever." 

If I never speak to you again, this is the farewell 
utterance. Yours truly, 


Mrs. Stowe was accompanied on this second trip to 
Europe by her husband, her two eldest daughters, her 
son Henry, and her sister Mary (Mrs. Perkins). It 
was a pleasant summer voyage, and was safely accom- 
plished without special incident. 


DEED, 1856. 

Second Visit to England. — A Glimpse at the Queen. — The 
Duke of Argyll and Inverary. — Early Correspondence with 
Lady Byron. — Dunrobin Castle and its Inmates. — A Visit 
to Stoke Park. — Lord Dufferin. — Charles Kingsley at 
Home. — Paris Revisited. — Madame Mohl's Receptions. 

After reaching England, about the middle of Au- 
gust, 1856, Mrs. Stowe and her husband spent some 
days in London completing arrangements to have an 
English edition of " Dred " published by Sampson 
Low & Co. Professor Stowe's duties in America being 
very pressing, he had intended returning at once, but 
was detained for a short time, as will be seen in the 
following letter written by him from Glasgow, August 
29, to a friend in America : — 

Dear Friend, — I finished my business in London 
on Wednesday, and intended to return by the Liver- 
pool steamer of to-morrow, but find that every berth 
on that line is engaged until the 3d of October. We 
therefore came here yesterday, and I shall take passage 
in the steamer New York from this port next Tuesday. 
We have received a special invitation to visit Inverary 
Castle, the seat of the Duke of Argyll, and yesterday 
we had just the very pleasantest little interview with 
the Queen that ever was. None of the formal, draw- 


ing-room, breathless receptions, but just an accidental, 
done-on-purpose meeting at a railway station, while on 
our way to Scotland. 

The Queen seemed really delighted to see my wife, 
and remarkably glad to see me for her sake. She 
pointed us out to Prince Albert, who made two most 
gracious bows to my wife and two to me, while the four 
royal children stared their big blue eyes almost out 
looking at the little authoress of " Uncle Tom's Cabin." 
Colonel Grey handed the Queen, with my wife's compli- 
ments, a copy of the new book (" Dred "). She took one 
volume herself and handed the other to Prince Albert, 
and they were soon both very busy reading. She is a 
real nice little body with exceedingly pleasant, kindly 

I expect to be in Natick the last week in September. 
God bless you all. 

C. E. Stowe. 

After her husband's departure for the United States, 
Mrs. Stowe, with her son Henry, her two eldest daugh- 
ters, and her sister Mary (Mrs. Perkins), accepted the 
Duke of Argyll's invitation to visit the Highlands. Of 
this visit we catch a pleasant glimpse from a letter writ- 
ten to Professor Stowe during its continuance, which is 
as follows : — 

Inverary Castle, September 6, 1856. 

My dear Husband, — We have been now a week 
in this delicious place, enjoying the finest skies and 
scenery, the utmost of kind hospitality. From Loch 
Goil we took the coach for Inverary, a beautiful drive 

272 DEED. 

of about two hours. We had seats on the outside, and 
the driver John, like some of the White Mountain guides, 
was full of song and story, and local tradition. He 
spoke Scotch and Gaelic, recited ballads, and sung songs 
with great gusto. Mary and the girls stopped in a little 
inn at St. Catherine's, on the shores of Loch Fine, while 
Henry and I took steamboat for Inverary, where we 
found the duchess waiting in a carriage for us, with 
Lady Emma Campbell. . . . 

The common routine of the day here is as follows : 
We rise about half past eight. About half past nine 
we all meet in the dining-hall, where the servants are 
standing in a line down one side, and a row of chairs 
for guests and visitors occupies the other. The duchess 
with her nine children, a perfectly beautiful little flock, 
sit together. The duke reads the Bible and a prayer, 
and pronounces the benediction. After that, breakfast 
is served, — a very hearty, informal, cheerful meal, — 
and after that come walks, or drives, or fishing parties, 
till lunch time, and then more drives, or anything else : 
everybody, in short, doing what he likes till half past 
seven, which is the dinner hour. After that we have 
coffee and tea in the evening. 

The first morning, the duke took me to see his mine 
of nickel silver. We had a long and beautiful drive, 
and talked about everything in literature, religion, 
morals, and the temperance movement, about which last 
he is in some state of doubt and uncertainty, not in- 
clining, I think, to have it pressed yet, though feeling 
there is need of doing something. 

If " Dred " has as good a sale in America as it is 
likely to have in England, we shall do well. There is 


such a demand that they had to placard the shop win- 
dows in Glasgow with, — 

" To prevent disappointment, 

' Dred ' 

Not to be had till," etc. 

Everybody is after it, and the prospect is of an enor- 
mous sale. 

God, to whom I prayed night and day while I was 
writing the book, has heard me, and given us of worldly 
goods more than I asked. I feel, therefore, a desire to 
" walk softly," and inquire, for what has He so trusted 

Every day I am more charmed with the duke and 
duchess ; they are simple-hearted, frank, natural, full 
of feeling, of piety, and good sense. They certainly 
are, apart from any considerations of rank or position, 
most interesting and noble people. The duke laughed 
heartily at many things I told him of our Andover 
theological tactics, of your preaching, etc. ; but I think 
he is a sincere, earnest Christian. 

Our American politics form the daily topic of in- 
terest. The late movements in Congress are discussed 
with great warmth, and every morning the papers are 
watched for new details. • 

I must stop now, as it is late and we are to leave 
here early to-morrow morning. We are going to Staffa, 
Eona, the Pass of Glencoe, and finally through the Cal- 
idonian Canal up to Dunrobin Castle, where a large 
}arty of all sorts of interesting people are gathered 
iround the Duchess of Sutherland. 

Affectionately yours, Harriet. 

274 DEED. 

From Dunrobin Castle one of his daughters writes 
to Professor Stowe : " We spent five most delightful 
days at Inverary, and were so sorry you could not be 
there with us. From there we went to Oban, and spent 
several days sight-seeing, finally reaching Inverness by 
way of the Caledonian Canal. Here, to our surprise, 
we found our rooms at the hotel all prepared for us. 
The next morning we left by post for Dunrobin, which 
is fifty-nine miles from Inverness. At the borders of 
the duke's estate we found a delightfully comfortable 
carriage awaiting us, and before we had gone much 
farther the postilion announced that the duchess was 
coming to meet us. Sure enough, as we looked up the 
road we saw a fine cavalcade approaching. It consisted 
of a splendid coach-and-four (in which sat the duchess) 
with liveried postilions, and a number of outriders, one 
of whom rode in front to clear the way. The duchess 
seemed perfectly delighted to see mamma, and taking 
her into her own carriage dashed off towards the castle, 
we following on behind." 

At Dunrobin Mrs. Stowe found awaiting her the fol- 
lowing note from her friend, Lady Byron : — 

London, September 10, 1856. 

Your book, dear Mrs. Stowe, is of the " little leaven " 
kind, and must prove a great moral force, — perhaps not 
manifestly so much as secretly, and yet I can hardly 
conceive so much power without immediate and sensible 
effects ; only there will be a strong disposition to resist 
on the part of all the hollow-hearted professors of 
religion, whose heathenisms you so unsparingly expose. 
They have a class feeling like others. To the young, 


and to those who do not reflect much on what is offered 
to their belief, you will do great good by showing how 
spiritual food is adulterated. The Bread from Heaven 
is in the same case as baker's bread. I feel that one 
perusal is not enough. It is a " mine," to use your own 
simile. If there is truth in what I heard Lord Byron 
say, that works of fiction lived only by the amount of 
truth which they contained, your story is sure of long 
life. . . . 

I know now, more than before, how to value com- 
munion with you. 

With kind regards to your family, 
Yours affectionately, 

A. T. Noel Byron. 

From this pleasant abiding-place Mrs. Stowe writes 
to her husband : — 

Dunrobin Castle, September 15, 1856. 

My dear Husband, — Everything here is like a 
fairy story. The place is beautiful ! It is the most 
perfect combination of architectural and poetic romance, 
with home comfort. The people, too, are charming. We 
have here Mr. Labouchere, a cabinet minister, and Lady 
Mary his wife, — I like him very much, and her, too, — 
Kingsley's brother, a very entertaining man, and to- 
morrow Lord Ellsmere is expected. I wish you could 
be here, for I am sure you would like it. Life is so 
quiet and sincere and friendly, that you would feel more 
as if you had come at the hearts of these people than 
in London. 

The Sutherland estate looks like a garden. We 
stopped at the town of Frain, four miles before we 

276 DEED. 

reached Sutberlandshire, where a crowd of well-to-do, 
nice-looking people gathered around the carriage, and 
as we drove off gave three cheers. This was better 
than I expected, and looks well for their opinion of my 

" Dred " is selling over here wonderfully. Low says, 
with all the means at his command, he has not been able 
to meet the demand. He sold fifty thousand in two 
weeks, and probably will sell as many more. 

I am showered with letters, private and printed, in 
which the only difficulty is to know what the writers 
would be at. I see evidently happiness and prosperity 
all through the line of this estate. I see the duke 
giving his thought and time, and spending the whole 
income of this estate in improvements upon it. I see 
the duke and duchess evidently beloved wherever they 
move. I see them most amiable, most Christian, most 
considerate to everybody. The writers of the letters 
admit the goodness of the duke, but denounce the sys- 
tem, and beg me to observe its effects for myself. I do 
observe that, compared with any other part of the High- 
lands, Sutherland is a garden. I observe well -clothed 
people, thriving lands, healthy children, fine school- 
houses, and all that. 

Henry was invited to the tenants' dinner, where he 
excited much amusement by pledging every toast in 
fair water, as he has done invariably on all occasions 
since he has been here. 

The duchess, last night, showed me her copy of 
" Dred," in which she has marked what most struck or 
pleased her. I begged it, and am going to send it to 
you. She said to me this morning at breakfast, " The 


Queen says that she began * Dred ' the very minute she 
got it, and is deeply interested in it." 

She bought a copy of Lowell's poems, and begged 
me to mark the best ones for her ; so if you see him, 
tell him that we have been reading him together. She 
is, taking her all in all, one of the noblest-appointed 
women I ever saw ; real old, genuine English, such as 
one reads of in history ; full of nobility, courage, ten- 
derness, and zeal. It does me good to hear her read 
prayers daily, as she does, in the midst of her servants 
and guests, with a manner full of grand and noble feel- 

Thursday Morning, September 25. We were 
obliged to get up at half past five the morning we 
left Dunrobin, an effort when one does n't go to bed 
till one o'clock. We found breakfast laid for us in the 
library, and before we had quite finished the duchess 
came in. Our starting off was quite an imposing sight. 
First came the duke's landau, in which were Mary, the 
duke, and myself ; then a carriage in which were Eliza 
and Hatty, and finally the carriage which we had hired, 
with Henry, our baggage, and Mr. Jackson (the duke's 
secretary). The gardener sent a fresh bouquet for 
each of us, and there was such a leave-taking, as if we 
were old and dear friends. We did really love them, and 
had no doubt of their love for us. 

The duke rode with us as far as Dornach, where he 
showed us the cathedral beneath which his ancestors 
are buried, and where is a statue of his father, similar 
bo one the tenants have erected on top of the highest 
bill in the neighborhood. 

We also saw the prison, which had but two inmates, 

278 DEED. 

and the old castle. Here the duke took leave of us, 
and taking our own carriage we crossed the ferry and 
continued on our way. After a very bad night's rest 
at Inverness, in consequence of the town's being so full 
of people attending some Highland games that we 
could have no places at the hotel, and after a weary 
ride in the rain, we came into Aberdeen Friday night. 

To-morrow we go on to Edinburgh, where I hope to 
meet a letter from you. The last I heard from Low, 
he had sold sixty thousand of " Dred," and it was still 
selling well. I have not yet heard from America how 
it goes. The critics scold, and whiffle, and dispute 
about it, but on the whole it is a success, so the 
" Times " says, with much coughing, hemming, and 
standing first on one foot and then on the other. If 
the " Times " were sure we should beat in the next 
election, " Dred " would go up in the scale ; but as long 
as there is that uncertainty, it has first one line of 
praise, and then one of blame. 

Henry Stowe returned to America in October to en- 
ter Dartmouth College, while the rest of the party pur- 
sued their way southward, as will be seen by the follow- 
ing letters : — 

City of York, October 10, 1856. 

Dear Husband, — Henry will tell you all about our 
journey, and at present I have but little time for de- 
tails. I received your first letter with great joy, relief, 
and gratitude, first to God for restoring your health 
and strength, and then to you for so good, long, and 
refreshing a letter. 

Henry, I hope, comes home with a serious determina- 


tion to do well and be a comfort. Seldom has a young 
man seen what he has in this journey, or made more 
valuable friends. 

Since we left Aberdeen, from which place my last 
was mailed, we have visited in Edinburgh with abound- 
ing delight; thence yesterday to Newcastle. Last 
night attended service in Durham Cathedral, and after 
that came to York, whence we send Henry to Liver- 

I send you letters, etc., by him. One hundred thou- 
sand copies of "Dred" sold in four weeks ! After that 
who cares what critics say? Its success in England 
has been complete, so far as sale is concerned. It is 
very bitterly attacked, both from a literary and a reli- 
gious point of view. The " Record " is down upon it 
with a cartload of solemnity ; the " Athenaeum " with 
waspish spite ; the " Edinburgh " goes out of its way 
to say that the author knows nothing of the society she 
describes ; but yet it goes everywhere, is read every- 
where, and Mr. Low says that he puts the hundred and 
twenty-fifth thousand to press confidently. The fact 
that so many good judges like it better than " Uncle 
Tom " is success enough. 

In my journal to Henry, which you may look for 
next week, you will learn how I have been very near 
the Queen, and formed acquaintance with divers of 
her lords and ladies, and heard all she has said about 
" Dred ; " how she prefers it to " Uncle Tom," how she 
inquired for you, and other matters. 

Till then, I am, as ever, your affectionate wife, 

H. B. Stowe. 

280 BRED. 

After leaving York, Mrs. Stowe and her party spent 
a day or two at Carlton Rectory, on the edge of Sher- 
wood Forest, in which they enjoyed a most delightful 
picnic. From there they were to travel to London by 
way of Warwick and Oxford, and of this journey Mrs. 
Stowe writes as follows to her son Henry : — 

" The next morning we were induced to send our 
things to London, being assured by Mr. G. that he 
would dispatch them immediately with some things of 
his own that were going, and that they should certainly 
await us upon our arrival. In one respect it was well 
for us that we thus rid ourselves of the trouble of look- 
ing after them, for I never saw such blind, confusing 
arrangements as these English railroads have. 

" When we were set down at the place where we 
were to change for Warwick, we were informed that 
probably the train had gone. At any rate it could 
only be found on the other side of the station. You 
might naturally think we had nothing to do but walk 
across to the other side. No, indeed 1 We had to as- 
cend a flight of stairs, go through a sort of tubular 
bridge, and down another pair of stairs. When we got 
there the guard said the train was just about to start, 
and yet the ticket office was closed. We tried the door 
in vain. i You must hurry,' said the guard. ' How 
can we ? ' said I, ' when we can't get tickets.' He went 
and thumped, and at last roused the dormant intelli- 
gence inside. We got our tickets, ran for dear life, 
got in, and then waited ten minutes ! Arrived at 
Warwick we had a very charming time, and after seeing 
all there was to see we took cars for Oxford. 

"The next day we tried to see Oxford. You can 

AT MB. LOW'S. 281 

have no idea of it. Call it a college ! it is a city of 
colleges, — a mountain of museums, colleges, halls, 
courts, parks, chapels, lecture-rooms. Out of twenty- 
four colleges we saw only three. We saw enough, how- 
ever, to show us that to explore the colleges of Oxford 
would take a week. Then we came away, and about 
eleven o'clock at night found ourselves in London. 

" It was dripping and raining here, for all the world, 
just as it did when we left ; but we found a cosy little 
parlor, papered with cheerful crimson paper, lighted by 
a coal-fire, a neat little supper laid out, and the Misses 
Low waiting; for us. Was n't it nice ? 

" We are expecting our baggage to-night. Called at 
Sampson Low's store to-day and found it full every- 
where of red ' Dreds.' " 

Upon reaching London Mrs. Stowe found the follow- 
ing note from Lady Byron awaiting her : — 

Oxford House, October 15, 1856. 

Dear Mrs. Stowe, — The newspapers represent 
you as returning to London, but I cannot wait for the 
chance, slender I fear, of seeing you there, for I wish 
to consult you on a point admitting but of little delay. 
Feeling that the sufferers in Kansas have a claim not 
only to sympathy, but to the expression of it, I wish to 
send them a donation. It is, however, necessary to 
know what is the best application of money and what 
the safest channel. Presuming that you will approve 
the object, I ask you to tell me. Perhaps you would 
undertake the transmission of my £50. My present 
residence, two miles beyond Richmond, is opposite. I 
have watched for instructions of your course with warm 

282 DRED. 

interest. The sale of your book will go on increasing. 
It is beginning to be understood. 

Believe me, with kind regards to your daughters, 
Your faithful and affectionate 

A. T. Noel Byron. 

To this note the following answer was promptly re- 
turned : — 

Grove Terrace, Kentish Town, October 16, 1856. 

Dear Lady Byron, — How glad I was to see your 
handwriting once more ! how more than glad I should 
be to see you ! I do long to see you. I have so much 
to say, — so much to ask, and need to be refreshed with 
a sense of a congenial and sympathetic soul. 

Thank you, my dear friend, for your sympathy with 
our poor sufferers in Kansas. May God bless you for 
it ! By doing this you will step to my side ; perhaps 
you may share something of that abuse which they 
who " know not what they do " heap upon all who so 
feel for the right. I asssure you, dear friend, I am 
not insensible to the fiery darts which thus fly around 
me. . . . 

Direct as usual to my publishers, and believe me, as 
ever, with all my heart, 

Affectionately yours, H. B. S. 

Having dispatched this note, Mrs. Stowe wrote to her 
husband concerning their surroundings and plans as 
follows : — 

" Friday, \Q>th. Confusion in the camp ! no baggage 
come, nobody knows why ; running to stations, inquir- 
ies, messages, and no baggage. Meanwhile we have 


not even a clean collar, nothing but very soiled travel- 
ing dresses ; while Lady Mary Labouchere writes that 
her carriage will wait for us at Slough Station this 
afternoon, and we must be off at two. What 's to be 
done ? Luckily I did not carry all my dresses to Dunro- 
bin ; so I, of all the party, have a dress that can be 
worn. We go out and buy collars and handkerchiefs, 
and two o'clock beholds us at the station house. 

" Stoke Park. I arrived here alone, the baggage 
not having yet been heard from. Mr. G., being found 
in London, confessed that he delayed sending it by the 
proper train. In short, Mr. G. is what is called an easy 
man, and one whose easiness makes everybody else un- 
easy. So because he was easy and thought it was no 
great matter, and things would turn out well enough, 
without any great care, we have had all this discomfort. 

" I arrived alone at the Slough Station and found 
Lady Mary's carriage waiting. Away we drove through 
a beautiful park full of deer, who were so tame as to 
stand and look at us as we passed. The house is in 
the Italian style, with a dome on top, and wide terraces 
with stone balustrades around it. 

" Lady Mary met me at the door, and seemed quite 
concerned to learn of our ill-fortune. We went through 
a splendid suite of rooms to a drawing-room, where a 
little tea-table was standing. 

" After tea Lady Mary showed me my room. It 
had that delightful, homelike air of repose and comfort 
they succeed so well in giving to rooms here. There 
was a cheerful fire burning, an arm-chair drawn up be- 
side it, a sofa on the other side with a neatly arranged 
sofa-table on which were writing materials. One of 

284 DEED. 

the little girls had put a pot of pretty greenhouse moss 
in a silver basket on this table, and my toilet cushion 
was made with a place in the centre to hold a little 
vase of flowers. Here Lady Mary left me to rest be- 
fore dressing for dinner. I sat down in an easy-chair 
before the fire, and formed hospitable resolutions as to 
how I would try to make rooms always look homelike 
and pleasant to tired guests. Then came the maid to 
know if I wanted hot water, — if I wanted anything, — 
and by and by it was time for dinner. Going down 
into the parlor I met Mr. Labouchere and we all went 
in to dinner. It was not quite as large a party as at 
Dunrobin, but much in the same way. No company, 
but several ladies who were all family connections. 

■" The following morning Lord Dufferin and Lord 
Alfred Paget, two gentlemen of the Queen's household, 
rode over from Windsor to lunch with us. They 
brought news of the goings-on there. Do you remem- 
ber one night the Duchess of S. read us a letter from 
Lady Dufferin, describing the exploits of her son, who 
went yachting with Prince Napoleon up by Spitzber- 
gen, and when Prince Napoleon and all the rest gave up 
and went back, still persevered and discovered a new 
island ? Well, this was the same man. A thin, slender 
person, not at all the man you would fancy as a Mr. 
Great Heart, — lively, cheery, and conversational. 

" Lord Alfred is also very pleasant. 

" Lady Mary prevailed on Lord Dufferin to stay and 
drive with us after lunch, and we went over to Clifden, 
the duchess's villa, of which we saw the photograph at 
Dunrobin. For grace and beauty some of the rooms 
in this place exceed any I have yet seen in England. 


" When we came back my first thought was whether 
Aunt Mary and the girls had come. Just as we were 
all going up to dress for dinner they appeared. Mean- 
while, the Queen had sent over from Windsor for Lady 
Mary and her husband to dine with her that evening, 
and such invitations are understood as commands. 

" So, although they themselves had invited four or 
five people to dinner, they had to go and leave us to 
entertain ourselves. Lady Mary was dressed very 
prettily in a flounced white silk dress with a pattern of 
roses woven round the bottom of each flounce, and 
looked very elegant. Mr. Labouchere wore breeches, 
with knee and shoe buckles sparkling with diamonds. 

" They got home soon after we had left the drawing- 
room, as the Queen always retires at eleven. No late 
hours for her. 

" The next day Lady Mary told me that the Queen 
had talked to her all about ' Dred,' and how she pre- 
ferred it to * Uncle Tom's Cabin,' how interested she 
was in Nina, how provoked when she died, and how 
she was angry that something dreadful did not happen 
to Tom Gordon. She inquired for papa, and the rest 
of the family, all of whom she seemed to be well in- 
formed about. 

" The next morning we had Lord Dufferin again to 
breakfast. He is one of the most entertaining young 
men I have seen in England, full of real thought and 
noble feeling, and has a wide range of reading. He 
had read all our American literature, and was very 
flattering in his remarks on Hawthorne, Poe, and Long- 
fellow. I find J. R. Lowell less known, however, than 
he deserves to be. 

286 DEED. 

" Lord Dufferin says that his mother wrote him some 
verses on his coming of age, and that he built a tower 
for them and inscribed them on a brass plate. I recom- 
mend the example to you, Henry ; make yourself the 
tower and your memory the brass plate. 

" This morning came also, to call, Lady Augusta 
Bruce, Lord Elgin's daughter, one of the Duchess of 
Kent's ladies-in-waiting ; a very excellent, sensible girl, 
who is a strong anti-slavery body. 

" After lunch we drove over to Eton, and went in to 
see the provost's house. After this, as we were passing 
by Windsor the coachman suddenly stopped and said, 
' The Queen is coming, my lady.' We stood still and 
the royal cortege passed. I only saw the Queen, who 
bowed graciously. 

" Lady Mary stayed at our car door till it left the 
station, and handed in a beautiful bouquet as we parted. 
This is one of the loveliest visits I have made." 

After filling a number of other pleasant engage- 
ments in England, among which was a visit in the 
family of Charles Kingsley, Mrs. Stowe and her party 
crossed the Channel and settled down for some months 
in Paris for the express purpose of studying French. 
From the French capital she writes to her husband in 
Andover as follows : — 

Paris, November 7, 1856. 

My dear Husband, — On the 28th, when your last 
was written, I was at Charles Kingsley' s. It seemed 
odd enough to Mary and me to find ourselves, long 
after dark, alone in a hack, driving towards the house 
of a man whom we never had seen (nor his wife either). 

My heart fluttered as, after rumbling a long way 


through the dark, we turned into a yard. We knocked 
at a door and were met in the hall by a man who stam- 
mers a little in his speech, and whose inquiry, " Is 
this Mrs. Stowe ? " was our first positive introduction. 
Ushered into a large, pleasant parlor lighted by a coal 
fire, which flickered on comfortable chairs, lounges, 
pictures, statuettes, and book-cases, we took a good view 
of him. He is tall, slender, with blue eyes, brown hair, 
and a hale, well -browned face, and somewhat loose- 
jointed withal. His wife is a real Spanish beauty. 

How we did talk and go on for three days ! I guess 
he is tired. I 'm sure we were. He is a nervous, ex- 
citable being, and talks with head, shoulders, arms, and 
hands, while his hesitance makes it the harder. Of his 
theology I will say more some other time. He, also, 
has been through the great distress, the " Conflict of 
Ages," but has come out at a different end from Ed- 
ward, and stands with John Foster, though with more 
positiveness than he. 

He laughed a good deal at many stories I told him 
of father, and seemed delighted to hear about him. 
But he is, what I did not expect, a zealous Churchman ; 
insists that the Church of England is the finest and 
broadest platform a man can stand on, and that the 
thirty-nine articles are the only ones he could subscribe 
to. I told him you thought them the best summary 
(of doctrine) you knew, which pleased him greatly. 

Well, I got your letter to-night in Paris, at No. 19 
Rue de Clichy, where you may as well direct your 
future letters. 

We reached Paris about eleven o'clock last night 
and took a carriage for 17 Rue de Clichy, but when 

288 DEED. 

we got there, no ringing or pounding could rouse any- 
body. Finally, in despair, we remembered a card that 
had been handed into the cars by some hotel-runner, 
and finding it was of an English and French hotel, we 
drove there, and secured very comfortable accommoda- 
tions. We did not get to bed until after two o'clock. 
The next morning I sent a messenger to find Mme. 
Borione, and discovered that we had mistaken the num- 
ber, and should have gone to No. 19, which was the 
next door ; so we took a carriage and soon found our- 
selves established here, where we have a nice parlor 
and two bedrooms. 

There are twenty-one in the family, mostly Amer- 
icans, like ourselves, come to learn to speak French. 
One of them is a tall, handsome, young English lady, 
Miss Durant, who is a sculptress, studying with Baron 
de Triqueti. She took me to his studio, and he im- 
mediately remarked that she ought to get me to sit. I 
said I would, " only my French lessons." " Oh," said 
he, smiling, " we will give you French lessons while 
you sit." So I go to-morrow morning. 

As usual, my horrid pictures do me a service, and 
people seem relieved when they see me ; think me even 
handsome " in a manner." Kingsley, in his relief, ex- 
pressed as much to his wife, and as beauty has never 
been one of my strong points I am open to flattery 
upon it. 

We had a most agreeable call from Arthur Helps 
before we left London. He, Kingsley, and all the 
good people are full of the deepest anxiety for our 
American affairs. They really do feel very deeply, 
seeing the peril so much plainer than we do in America. 


Sunday night. I fear I have delayed your letter too 
long. The fact is, that of the ten days I have been 
here I have been laid up three with severe neuralgia, 
viz., toothache in the backbone, and since then have 
sat all day to be modeled for my bust. 

We spent the other evening with Baron de Triqueti, 
the sculptor. He has an English wife, and a charming 
daughter about the age of our girls. Life in Paris is 
altogether more simple and natural than in England. 
They give you a plate of cake and a cup of tea in the 
most informal, social way, — the tea-kettle sings at the 
fire, and the son and daughter busy themselves gayly 
together making and handing tea. When tea was over, 
M. de Triqueti showed us a manuscript copy of the Gos- 
pels, written by his mother, to console herself in a season 
of great ill-health, and which he had illustrated all along 
with exquisite pen-drawings, resembling the most per- 
fect line engravings. I can't describe the beauty, grace, 
delicacy, and fullness of devotional feeling in these 
people. He is one of the loveliest men I ever saw. 

We have already three evenings in the week in which 
we can visit and meet friends if we choose, namely, at 
Madame Mohl's, Madame Lanziel's, and Madame Bel- 
loc's. All these salons are informal, social gatherings, 
with no fuss of refreshments, no nonsense of any kind. 
Just the cheeriest, heartiest, kindest little receptions you 
ever saw. 

A kiss to dear little Charley. If he could see all the 
things that I see every day in the Tuileries and Champs 
Elysees, he would go wild. All Paris is a general 
whirligig out of doors, but indoors people seem steady, 
quiet, and sober as anybody. 

290 DRED. 

November 30. This is Sunday evening, and a Sun- 
day in Paris always puts me in mind of your story 
about somebody who said, " Bless you ! they make such 
a noise that the Devil could n't meditate." All the extra 
work and odd jobs of life are put into Sunday. Your 
washerwoman comes Sunday, with her innocent, good- 
humored face, and would be infinitely at a loss to know 
why she should n't. Your bonnet, cloak, shoes, and 
everything are sent home Sunday morning, and all the 
way to church there is such whirligiging and pirouetting 
along the boulevards as almost takes one's breath away. 
Today we went to the Oratoire to hear M. Grand Pierre. 
I could not understand much ; my French ear is not 
quick enough to follow. I could only perceive that the 
subject was " La Charite," and that the speaker was 
fluent, graceful, and earnest, the audience serious and 

Last night we were at Baron de Triqueti's again, 
with a party invited to celebrate the birthday of their 
eldest daughter, Blanche, a lovely girl of nineteen. 
There were some good ladies there who had come 
eighty leagues to meet me, and who were so delighted 
with my miserable French that it was quite encouraging. 
I believe I am getting over the sandbar at last, and con- 
versation is beginning to come easy to me. 

There were three French gentlemen who had just 
been reading " Dred " in English, and who were as ex- 
cited and full of it as could be, and I talked with them 
to a degree that astonished myself. There is a review 
of " Dred " in the " Revue des Deux Mondes " which 
has long extracts from the book, and is written in a 
very appreciative and favorable spirit. Generally speak- 


ing, French critics seem to have a finer appreciation of 
my subtle shades of meaning than English. I am curi- 
ous to hear what Professor Park has to say about it. 
There has been another review in " La Presse " equally 
favorable. All seem to see the truth about American 
slavery much plainer than people can who are in it. If 
American ministers and Christians could see through 
their sophistical spider-webs, with what wonder, pity, 
and contempt they would regard their own vacillating 
condition ! 

We visit once a week at Madame Mold's, where we 
meet all sorts of agreeable people. Lady Elgin does n't 
go into society now, having been struck with paralysis, 
but sits at home and receives her friends as usual. This 
notion of sitting always in the open air is one of her 

I must say, life in Paris is arranged more sensibly 
than with us. Visiting involves no trouble in the feed- 
ing line. People don't go to eat. A cup of tea and 
plate of biscuit is all, — just enough to break up the 

It is wonderful that the people here do not seem to 
have got over " Uncle Tom " a bit. The impression 
seems fresh as if just published. How often have they 
said, That book has revived the Gospel among the 
poor of France ; it has done more than all the books 
we have published put together. It has gone among 
the les ouvriers, among the poor of Faubourg St. 
Antoine, and nobody knows how many have been led 
to Christ by it. Is not this blessed, my dear husband ? 
Is it not worth all the suffering of writing it ? 

I went the other evening to M. Grand Pierre's, where 

292 DEED. 

there were three rooms full of people, all as eager and 
loving as ever we met in England or Scotland. Oh, if 
Christians in Boston could only see the earnestness of 
feeling with which Christians here regard slavery, and 
their surprise and horror at the lukewarmness, to say 
the least, of our American church 1 About eleven 
o'clock we all joined in singing a hymn, then M. Grand 
Pierre made an address, in which I was named in the 
most affectionate and cordial manner. Then followed 
a beautiful prayer for our country, for America, on 
which hang so many of the hopes of Protestantism. 
One and all then came up, and there was great shaking 
of hands and much effusion. 

Under date of December 28, Mrs. Perkins writes: 
" On Sunday we went with Mr. and Mrs. (Jacob) Abbott 
to the Hotel des Invalides, and I think I was never 
more interested and affected. Three or four thousand 
old and disabled soldiers have here a beautiful and com- 
fortable home. We went to the morning service. The 
church is very large, and the colors taken in battle are 
hung on the walls. Some of them are so old as to be 
moth-eaten. The service is performed, as near as pos- 
sible, in imitation of the service before a battle. The 
drum beats the call to assemble, and the common sol- 
diers march up and station themselves in the centre of 
the church, under the commander. All the services are 
regulated by the beat of the drum. Only one priest 
officiates, and soldiers are stationed around to protect 
him. The music is from a brass band, and is very mag- 

u In the afternoon I went to vespers in the Madeleine, 


where the music was exquisite. They have two fine 
organs at opposite ends of the church. The ' Adeste 
Fidelis ' was sung by a single voice, accompanied by 
the organ, and after every verse it was taken up by male 
voices and the other organ and repeated. The effect 
was wonderfully fine. I have always found in our 
small churches at home that the organ was too power- 
ful and pained my head, but in these large cathedrals 
the effect is different. The volume of sound rolls over, 
full but soft, and I feel as though it must come from 
another sphere. 

" In the evening Mr. and Mrs. Bunsen called. He is 
a son of Chevalier Bunsen, and she a niece of Elizabeth 
Fry, — very intelligent and agreeable people." 

Under date of January 25, Mrs. Stowe writes from 
Paris : — 

" Here is a story for Charley. The boys in the Fau- 
bourg St. Antoine are the children of ouvriers, and 
every day their mothers give them two sous to buy a 
dinner. When they heard I was coming to the school, 
of their own accord they subscribed half their dinner 
money to give to me for the poor slaves. This five- 
franc piece I have now ; I have bought it of the cause 
for five dollars, and am going to make a hole in it and 
hang it round Charley's neck as a medal. 

" I have just completed arrangements for leaving 
the girls at a Protestant boarding-school while I go to 

" We expect to start the 1st of February, and my di- 
rection will be, E. Bartholimeu, 108 Via Margaretta." 



En Route to Rome. — Trials of Travel. — A Midnight Arrival 
and an Inhospitable Reception. — Glories of the Eternal 
City. — Naples and Vesuvius. — Venice. — Holy Week in 
Rome. — Return to England. — Letter from Harriet Mar- 


— Farewell to Lady Byron. 

Afteb leaving Paris Mrs. Stowe and her sister, Mrs. 
Perkins, traveled leisurely through the South of France 
toward Italy, stopping at Amiens, Lyons, and Mar- 
seilles. At this place they took steamer for Genoa, 
Leghorn, and Civita Vecchia. During their last night 
on shipboard they met with an accident, of which, and 
their subsequent trials in reaching Rome, Mrs. Stowe 
writes as follows : — 

About eleven o'clock, as I had just tranquilly laid 
down in my berth, I was roused by a grating crash, 
accompanied by a shock that shook the whole ship, and 
followed by the sound of a general rush on deck, tram- 
pling, scuffling, and cries. I rushed to the door and saw 
all the gentlemen hurrying on their clothes and getting 
confusedly towards the stairway. I went back to Mary, 
and we put on our things in silence, and, as soon as we 
could, got into the upper saloon. It was an hour be- 
fore we could learn anything certainly, except that we 


had run into another vessel. The fate of the Arctic 
came to us both, but we did not mention it to each 
other ; indeed, a quieter, more silent company you would 
not often see. Had I had any confidence in the ad- 
ministration of the boat, it would have been better, but 
as I had not, I sat in momentary uncertainty. Had 
we then known, as we have since, the fate of a boat re- 
cently sunk in the Mediterranean by a similar careless- 
ness, it would have increased our fears. By a singular 
chance an officer, whose wife and children were lost on 
board that boat, was on board ours, and happened to 
be on the forward part of the boat when the accident 
occurred. The captain and mate were both below ; 
there was nobody looking out, and had not this officer 
himself called out to stop the boat, we should have 
struck her with such force as to have sunk us. As it 
was, we turned aside and the shock came on a paddle- 
wheel, which was broken by it, for when, after two 
hours' delay, we tried to start and had gone a little 
way, there was another crash and the paddle-wheel 
fell down. You may be sure we did little sleeping 
that night. It was an inexpressible desolation to 
think that we might never again see those we loved. 
No one knows how much one thinks, and how rapidly, 
in such hours. 

In the Naples boat that was sunk a short time ago, 
the women perished in a dreadful way. The shock 
threw the chimney directly across the egress from be- 
low, so that they could not get on deck, and they 
were all drowned in the cabin. 

We went limping along with one broken limb till 
the next day about eleven, when we reached Civita 


Vecchia, where there were two hours more of delay 
about passports. Then we, that is, Mary and I, and a 
Dr. Edison from Philadelphia, with his son Alfred, took 
a carriage to Rome, but they gave us a miserable thing 
that looked as if it had been made soon after the 
deluge. About eight o'clock at night, on a lonely 
stretch of road, the wheel came off. We got out, and 
our postilions stood silently regarding matters. None 
of us could speak Italian, they could not speak French ; 
but the driver at last conveyed the idea that for five 
francs he could get a man to come and mend the wheel. 
The five francs were promised, and he untackled a 
horse and rode off. Mary and I walked up and down 
the dark, desolate road, occasionally reminding each 
other that we were on classic ground, and laughing at 
the oddity of our lonely, starlight promenade. After 
a while our driver came back, Tag, Rag, and Bobtail 
at his heels. I don't think I can do greater justice to 
Italian costumes than by this respectable form of words. 
Then there was another consultation. They put a 
bit of rotten timber under to pry the carriage up. 
Fortunately, it did not break, as we all expected it 
would, till after the wheel was on. Then a new train 
of thought was suggested. How was it to be kept on ? 
Evidently they had not thought far in that direction, 
for they had brought neither hammer nor nail, nor 
tool of any kind, and therefore they looked first at the 
wheel, then at each other, and then at us. The doctor 
now produced a little gimlet, with the help of which 
the broken fragments of the former linchpin were 
pushed out, and the way was cleared for a new one. 
Then they began knocking a fence to pieces to get out 


nails, but none could be found to fit. At last another 
ambassador was sent back for nails. While we were 
thus waiting, the diligence, in which many of our ship's 
company were jogging on to Rome, came up. They 
had plenty of room inside, and one of the party, seeing 
our distress, tried hard to make the driver stop, but he 
doggedly persisted in going on, and declared if any- 
body got down to help us he would leave him behind. 

An interesting little episode here occurred. It was 
raining, and Mary and I proposed, as the wheel was now 
on, to take our seats. We had no sooner done so than 
the horses were taken with a sudden fit of animation 
and ran off with us in the most vivacious manner, Tag, 
Rag, and Co. shouting in the rear. Some heaps of 
stone a little in advance presented an interesting pros- 
pect by way of a terminus. However, the horses were 
luckily captured before the wheel was off again ; and 
our ambassador being now returned, we were set right 
and again proceeded. 

I must not forget to remark that at every post where 
we changed horses and drivers, we had a pitched battle 
with the driver for more money than we had been told 
was the regular rate, and the carriage was surrounded 
with a perfect mob of ragged, shock-headed, black-eyed 
people, whose words all ended in " ino," and who raved 
and ranted at us till finally we paid much more than 
we ought, to get rid of them. 

At the gates of Rome the official, after looking at 
our passports, coolly told the doctor that if he had a 
mind to pay him five francs he could go in without 
further disturbance, but if not he would keep the bag- 
gage till morning. This form of statement had the 


recommendation of such precision and neatness of ex- 
pression that we paid him forthwith, and into Rome 
we dashed at two o'clock in the morning of the 9th of 
February, 1857, in a drizzling rain. 

We drove to the Hotel d' Angleterre, — it was full, 
— and ditto to four or five others, and in the last effort 
our refractory wheel came off again, and we all got out 
into the street. About a dozen lean, ragged " corbies," 
who are called porters and who are always lying in wait 
for travelers, pounced upon us. They took down our 
baggage in a twinkling, and putting it all into the 
street surrounded it, and chattered over it, while M. 
and I stood in the rain and received first lessons in 
Italian. How we did try to say something ! but they 
could n't talk anything but in " ino " as aforesaid. 
The doctor finally found a man who could speak a 
word or two of French, and leaving Mary, Alfred, and 
me to keep watch over our pile of trunks, he went off 
with him to apply for lodgings. I have heard many 
flowery accounts of first impressions of Rome. I must 
say ours was somewhat sombre. 

A young man came by and addressed us in English. 
How cheering ! We almost flew upon him. We begged 
him, at least, to lend us his Italian to call another car- 
riage, and he did so. A carriage which was passing 
was luckily secured, and Mary and I, with all our store 
of boxes and little parcels, were placed in it out of the 
rain, at least. Here we sat while the doctor from time 
to time returned from his wanderings to tell us he 
could find no place. " Can it be," said I, " that we 
are to be obliged to spend a night in the streets ? " 
What made it seem more odd was the knowledge that, 


could we only find them, we had friends enough in 
Rome who would be glad to entertain us. We began 
to speculate on lodgings. Who knows what we may 
get entrapped into ? Alfred suggested stories he had 
read of beds placed on trap-doors, — of testers which 
screwed down on people and smothered them ; and so, 
when at last the doctor announced lodgings found, we 
followed in rather an uncertain frame of mind. 

We alighted at a dirty stone passage, smelling of 
cats and onions, damp, cold, and earthy, we went up 
stone stairways, and at last were ushered into two very 
decent chambers, where we might lay our heads. The 
" corbies " all followed us, — black-haired, black-browed, 
ragged, and clamorous as ever. They insisted that we 
should pay the pretty little sum of twenty francs, or 
four dollars, for bringing our trunks about twenty steps. 
The doctor modestly but firmly declined to be thus im- 
posed upon, and then ensued a general " chatteration ; " 
one and all fell into attitudes, and the " inos " and 
" issimos " rolled freely. " For pity's sake get them 
off," we said ; so we made a truce for ten francs, but 
still they clamored, forced their way even into our bed- 
room, and were only repulsed by a' loud and combined 
volley of " No, no, noes ! " which we all set up at once, 
upon which they retreated. 

Our hostess was a little French woman, and that re- 
assured us. I examined the room, and seeing no trace 
of treacherous testers, or trap-doors, resolved to avail 
myself without fear of the invitation of a very clean, 
white bed, where I slept till morning without dreaming. 

The next day we sent our cards to M. Bartholimeu, 
and before we had finished breakfast he was on the 


spot. We then learned that he had been watching the 
diligence office for over a week, and that he had the 
pleasant set of apartments we are now occupying all 
ready and waiting for us. 

March 1. 

My dear Husband, — Every day is opening to me 
a new world of wonders here in Italy. I have been in 
the Catacombs, where I was shown many memorials of 
the primitive Christians, and to-day we are going to the 
Vatican. The weather is sunny and beautiful beyond 
measure, and flowers are springing in the fields on 
every side. Oh, my dear, how I do long to have you 
here to enjoy what you are so much better fitted to ap- 
preciate than I, — this wonderful combination of the 
past and the present, of what has been and what is ! 

Think of strolling leisurely through the Forum, of 
seeing the very stones that were laid in the time of the 
Republic, of rambling over the ruined Palace of the 
Caesars, of walking under the Arch of Titus, of seeing 
the Dying Gladiator, and whole ranges of rooms filled 
with wonders of art, all in one morning ! All this I 
did on Saturday, and only wanted you. You know so 
much more and could appreciate so much better. At 
the Palace of the Caesars, where the very dust is a 
melange of exquisite marbles, I saw for the first time 
an acanthus growing, and picked my first leaf. 

Our little menage moves on prosperously ; the doctor 
takes excellent care of us and we of him. One sees 
everybody here at Rome, John Bright, Mrs. Hemans* 
son, Mrs. Gaskell, etc., etc. Over five thousand English 
travelers are said to be here. Jacob Abbot and wife are 
coming. Rome is a world ! Rome is an astonishment ! 


Papal Rome is an enchantress ! Old as she is, she is 
like Niiion d'Enclos, — the young fall in love with her. 
You will hear next from us at Naples. 

Affectionately yours, H. B. S. 

From Rome the travelers went to Naples, and after 
visiting Pompeii and Herculaneum made the ascent of 
Vesuvius, a graphic account of which is contained in a 
letter written at this time by Mrs. Stowe to her daugh- 
ters in Paris. After describing the preparations and 
start, she says : — 

" Gradually the ascent became steeper and steeper, 
till at length it was all our horses could do to pull us 
up. The treatment of horses in Naples is a thing that 
takes away much from the pleasure and comfort of 
such travelers as have the least feeling for animals. 
The people seem absolutely to have no consideration 
for them. You often see vehicles drawn by one horse 
carrying fourteen or fifteen great, stout men and women. 
This is the worse as the streets are paved with flat 
stones which are exceedingly slippery. On going up 
hill the drivers invariably race their horses, urging 
them on with a constant storm of blows. 

" As the ascent of the mountain became steeper, the 
horses panted and trembled in a way that made us feel 
that we could not sit in the carriage, yet the guide 
and driver never made the slightest motion to leave 
the box. At last three of us got out and walked, and 
invited our guide to do the same, yet with all this re- 
lief the last part of the ascent was terrible, and the 
rascally fellows actually forced the horses to it by beat- 
ing them with long poles on the back of their legs. 


No Englishman or American would ever allow a horse 
to be treated so. 

" The Hermitage is a small cabin, where one can buy 
a little wine or any other refreshment one may need. 
There is a species of wine made of the grapes of Vesu- 
vius, called ' Lachryma Christi/ that has a great reputa- 
tion. Here was a miscellaneous collection of beggars, 
ragged boys, men playing guitars, bawling donkey 
drivers, and people wanting to sell sticks or minerals, 
the former to assist in the ascent, and the latter as 
specimens of the place. In the midst of the commo- 
tion we were placed on our donkeys, and the serious, 
pensive brutes moved away. At last we reached the 
top of the mountain, and I gladly sprang on firm land. 
The whole top of the mountain was covered with wa- 
vering wreaths of smoke, from the shadows of which 
emerged two English gentlemen, who congratulated us 
on our safe arrival, and assured us that we were fortu- 
nate in our day, as the mountain was very active. We 
could hear a hollow, roaring sound, like the burning of 
a great furnace, but saw nothing. ' Is this all ? ' I 
said. ' Oh, no. Wait till the guide comes up with 
the rest of the party,' and soon one after another came 
up, and we then followed the guide up a cloudy, rocky 
path, the noise of the fire constantly becoming nearer. 
Finally we stood on the verge of a vast, circular pit 
about forty feet deep, the floor of which is of black, 
ropy waves of congealed lava. 

The sides are sulphur cliffs, stained in every brilliant 
shade, from lightest yellow to deepest orange and 
brown. In the midst of the lava floor rises a black 
cone, the chimney of the great furnace. This was 


burning and flaming like the furnace of a glass-house, 
and every few moments throwing up showers of cinders 
and melted lava which fell with a rattling sound on the 
black floor of the pit. One small bit of the lava came 
over and fell at our feet, and a gentleman lighted his 
cigar at it. 

" All around where we stood the smoke was issuing 
from every chance rent and fissure of the rock, and the 
Neapolitans who crowded round us were every moment 
soliciting us to let them cook us an egg in one of these 
rifts, and, overcome by persuasion, I did so, and found 
it very nicely boiled, or rather steamed, though the 
shell tasted of Glauber's salt and sulphur. 

" The whole place recalled to my mind so vividly 
Milton's description of the infernal regions, that I 
could not but believe that he had drawn the imagery 
from this source. Milton, as we all know, was some 
time in Italy, and, although I do not recollect any 
account of his visiting Vesuvius, I cannot think how he 
should have shaped his language so coincidently to the 
phenomena if he had not. 

" On the way down the mountain our ladies aston- 
ished the natives by making an express stipulation that 
our donkeys were not to be beaten, — why, they could 
not conjecture. The idea of any feeling of compassion 
for an animal is so foreign to a Neapolitan's thoughts 
that they supposed it must be some want of courage on 
our part. When, once in a while, the old habit so pre- 
vailed that the boy felt that he must strike the donkey, 
and when I forbade him, he would say, ' Courage, sig- 
nora, courage.' 

" Time would fail me to tell the whole of our adven- 


tures in Southern Italy. We left it with regret, and I 
will tell you some time by word of mouth what else we 

" We went by water from Naples to Leghorn, and 
were gloriously seasick, all of us. From Leghorn we 
went to Florence, where we abode two weeks nearly. 
Two days ago we left Florence and started for Venice, 
stopping one day and two nights en route at Bologna, 
Here we saw the great university, now used as a library, 
the walls of which are literally covered with the embla- 
zoned names and coats of arms of distinguished men 
who were educated there. 

" Venice. The great trouble of traveling in Europe, 
or indeed of traveling anywhere, is that you can never 
catch romance. No sooner are you in any place than 
being there seems the most natural, matter - of - fact 
occurrence in the world. Nothing looks foreign or 
strange to you. You take your tea and your dinner, 
eat, drink, and sleep as aforetime, and scarcely realize 
where you are or what you are seeing. But Venice is 
an exception to this state of things ; it is all romance 
from beginning to end, and never ceases to seem 
strange and picturesque. 

" It was a rainy evening when our cars rumbled over 
the long railroad bridge across the lagoon that leads to 
the station. Nothing but flat, dreary swamps, and 
then the wide expanse of sea on either side. The cars 
stopped, and the train, being a long one, left us a little 
out of the station. We got out in a driving rain, in 
company with flocks of Austrian soldiers, with whom 
the third-class cars were filled. We went through a 
long passage, and emerged into a room where all na- 

VENICE. 305 

tions seemed commingling ; Italians, Germans, French, 
Austrians, Orientals, all in wet weather trim. 

" Soon, however, the news was brought that our bag- 
gage was looked out and our gondolas ready. 

" The first plunge under the low, black hood of a 
gondola, especially of a rainy night, has something 
funereal in it. Four of us sat cowering together, and 
looked, out of the rain-dropped little windows at the 
sides, at the scene. Gondolas of all sizes were gliding 
up and down, with their sharp, fishy-looking prows of 
steel pushing their ways silently among each other, 
while gondoliers shouted and jabbered, and made as 
much confusion in their way as terrestrial hackmen on 
dry land. Soon, however, trunks and carpet-bags be- 
ing adjusted, we pushed off, and went gliding away 
up the Grand Canal, with a motion so calm that we 
could scarce discern it except by the moving of objects 
on shore. Venice, la belle, appeared to as much dis- 
advantage as a beautiful woman bedraggled in a thun- 

" Lake Como. We stayed in Venice five days, and 
during that time saw all the sights that it could enter 
the head of a valet-de-place to afflict us with. It is an 
affliction, however, for which there is no remedy, be- 
cause you want to see the things, and would be very 
sorry if you went home without having done so. From 
Venice we went to Milan to see the cathedral and 
Leonardo da Vinci's ' Last Supper.' The former is 
mperb, and of the latter I am convinced, from the little 
;hat remains of it, that it was the greatest picture the 
vorld ever saw. We shall run back to Rome for Holy 
Week, and then to Paris. 


" Rome. From Lake Como we came back here for 
Holy Week, and now it is over. 

" * What do you think of it ? ' 

" Certainly no thoughtful or sensitive person, no per- 
son impressible either through the senses or the reli- 
gious feelings, can fail to feel it deeply. 

" In the first place, the mere fact of the different 
nations of the earth moving, so many of them, with 
one accord, to so old and venerable a city, to celebrate 
the death and resurrection of Jesus, is something in it- 
self affecting. Whatever dispute there may be about the 
other commemorative feasts of Christendom, the time 
of this epoch is fixed unerringly by the Jews' Passover. 
That great and solemn feast, therefore, stands as an 
historical monument to mark the date of the most im- 
portant and thrilling events which this world ever wit- 

" When one sees the city filling with strangers, pil- 
grims arriving on foot, the very shops decorating them- 
selves in expectancy, every church arranging its ser- 
vices, the prices even of temporal matters raised by 
the crowd and its demands, he naturally thinks, Where- 
fore, why is all this? and he must be very careless 
indeed if it do not bring to mind, in a more real way 
than before, that at this very time, so many years ago, 
Christ and his apostles were living actors in the scenes 
thus celebrated to-day." 

As the spring was now well advanced, it was deemed 
advisable to bring this pleasant journey to a close, and 
for Mrs. Stowe at least it was imperative that she return 
to America. Therefore, leaving Rome with many re- 
grets and lingering, backward glances, the two sisters 


hurried to Paris, where they found their brother-in- 
law, Mr. John Hooker, awaiting them. Under date of 
May 3 Mrs. Stowe writes from Paris to her husband : 
" Here I am once more, safe in Paris after a fatiguing 
journey. I found the girls well, and greatly improved 
in their studies. As to bringing them home with me 
now, I have come to the conclusion that it would not 
be expedient. A few months more of study here will 
do them a world of good. I have, therefore, arranged 
that they shall come in November in the Arago, with 
a party of friends who are going at that time. 

" John Hooker is here, so Mary is going with him 
and some others for a few weeks into Switzerland. I 
have some business affairs to settle in England, and 
shall sail from Liverpool in the Europa on the sixth 
of June. I am so homesick to-day, and long with a 
great longing to be with you once more. I am impa- 
tient to go, and yet dread the voyage. Still, to reach 
you I must commit myself once more to the ocean, of 
which at times I have a nervous horror, as to the arms 
of my Father. * The sea is his, and He made it.' It 
is a rude, noisy old servant, but it is always obedient 
to his will, and cannot carry me beyond his power and 
love, wherever or to whatever it bears me." 

Having established her daughters in a Protestant 

Doarding-school in Paris, Mrs. Stowe proceeded to Lon- 

lon. While there she received the following letter 

rom Harriet Martineau : — 

Ambleside, June 1. 

Dear Mrs. Stowe, — I have been at my wits' end 
1 o learn how to reach you, as your note bore no direc- 
lion but "London." Arnolds, Croppers, and others 


could give no light, and the newspapers tell only where 
you had been. So I commit this to your publishers, 
trusting that it will find you somewhere, and in time, 
perhaps, bring you here. Can't you come ? You are 
aware that we shall never meet if you don't come soon. 
I see no strangers at all, but I hope to have breath and 
strength enough for a little talk with you, if you could 
come. You could have perfect freedom at the times 
when I am laid up ? and we could seize my " capability 
seasons " for our talk. 

The weather and scenery are usually splendid just 
now. Did I see you (in white frock and black silk 
apron) when I was in Ohio in 1835 ? Your sister I 
knew well, and I have a clear recollection of your 
father. I believe and hope you were the young lady in 
the black silk apron. 

Do you know I rather dreaded reading your book ! 
Sick people are weak : and one of my chief weaknesses 
is dislike of novels, — (except some old ones which I 
almost know by heart). I knew that with you I should 
be safe from the cobweb-spinning of our modern subjec- 
tive novelists and the jaunty vulgarity of our " funny 
philosophers " — the Dickens sort, who have tired us 
out. But I dreaded the alternative, — the too strong 
interest. But oh ! the delight I have had in " Dred ! " 
The genius carries all before it, and drowns everything 
in glorious pleasure. So marked a work of genius 
claims exemption from every sort of comparison ; but, 
as you ask for my opinion of the book, you may like 
to know that I think it far superior to " Uncle Tom." 
I have no doubt that a multitude of people will say it 
is a falling off, because they made up their minds that 


any new book of yours must be inferior to that, and 
because it is so rare a thing for a prodigious fame to 
be sustained by a second book ; but, in my own mind 
I am entirely convinced that the second book is by far 
the best. Such faults as you have are in the artistic 
department, and there is less defect in " Dred " than in 
" Uncle Tom," and the whole material and treatment 
seem to me richer and more substantial. I have had 
critiques of " Dred " from the two very wisest people I 
know — perfectly unlike each other (the critics, I mean), 
and they delight me by thinking exactly like each other 
and like me. They distinctly prefer it to " Uncle Tom." 
To say the plain truth, it seems to me so splendid 
a work of genius that nothing that I can say can give 
you an idea of the intensity of admiration with which 
I read it. It seemed to me, as I told my nieces, that 
our English fiction writers had better shut up alto- 
gether and have done with it, for one will have no pa- 
tience with any but didactic writing after yours. My 
nieces (and you may have heard that Maria, my nurse, 
is very, very clever) are thoroughly possessed with the 
book, and Maria says she feels as if a fresh department 
of human life had been opened to her since this day 
week. I feel the freshness no less, while, from my 
travels, I can be even more assured of the truthfulness 
of your wonderful representation. I see no limit to the 
good it may do by suddenly splitting open Southern 
life, for everybody to look into. It is precisely the 
thing that is most wanted, — just as " Uncle Tom " was 
wanted, three years since, to show what ne^ro slavery 
in your republic was like. It is plantation-life, particu- 
larly in the present case, that I mean. As for your 


exposure of the weakness and helplessness ot the 
churches, I deeply honor you for the courage with 
which you have made the exposure ; but I don't sup- 
pose that any amendment is to be looked for in that 
direction. You have unburdened your own soul in 
that matter, and if they had been corrigible, you would 
have helped a good many more. But I don't expect 
that result. The Southern railing at you will be some- 
thing unequaled, I suppose. I hear that three of us 
have the honor of being abused from day to day al- 
ready, as most portentous and shocking women, you, 
Mrs. Chapman, and myself as (the traveler of twenty 
years ago). Not only newspapers, but pamphlets of 
such denunciation are circulated, I 'm told. I 'm afraid 
now I, and even Mrs. Chapman, must lose our fame, 
and all the railing will be engrossed by you. My little 
function is to keep English people tolerably right, by 
means of a London daily paper, while the danger of 
misinformation and misreading from the " Times " con- 
tinues. I can't conceive how such a paper as the 
" Times " can fail to be better informed than it is. At 
times it seems as if its New York correspondent was 
making game of it. The able and excellent editor of 
the " Daily News " gives me complete liberty on Amer- 
ican subjects, and Mrs. Chapman's and other friends* 
constant supply of information enables me to use this 
liberty for making the cause better understood. I 
hope I shall hear that you are coming. It is like a 
great impertinence — my having written so freely about 
your book : but you asked my opinion, — that is all I 
can say. Thank you much for sending the book to 
me. If you come you will write our names in it, and 


this will make it a valuable legacy to a nephew or 

Believe me gratefully and affectionately yours, 

Harriet Martineau. 

In London Mrs. Stowe also received the following 
letter from Prescott, the historian, which after long 
wandering had finally rested quietly at her English 
publishers awaiting her coming. 

Pepperell, October 4, 1856. 

My dear Mrs. Stowe, — I am much obliged to you 
for the copy of " Dred " which Mr. Phillips put into 
my hands. It has furnished us our evening's amuse- 
ment since we have been in the country, where we 
spend the brilliant month of October. 

The African race are much indebted to you for show- 
ing up the good sides of their characters, their cheer- 
fulness, and especially their powers of humor, which are 
admirably set off by their peculiar patois, in the same 
manner as the expression of the Scottish sentiment is 
by the peculiar Scottish dialect. People differ ; but I 
was most struck among your characters with Uncle 
Tiff and Nina. The former a variation of good old 
Uncle Tom, though conceived in a merrier vein than 
belonged to that sedate personage ; the difference of 
their tempers in this respect being well suited to the 
difference of the circumstances in which they were 
placed. But Nina, to my mind, is the true hero of the 
book, which I should have named after her instead of 
" Dred." She is indeed a charming conception, full of 
what is called character, and what is masculine in her 


nature is toned down by such a delightful sweetness 
and kindness of disposition as makes her perfectly fas- 
cinating. I cannot forgive you for smothering her so 
prematurely. No dramatis personce could afford the 
loss of such a character. But I will not bore you with 
criticism, of which you have had quite enough. I must 
thank you, however, for giving Tom Gordon a gutta- 
percha cane to perform his flagellations with. 

I congratulate you on the brilliant success of the 
work, unexampled even in this age of authorship ; and, 
as Mr. Phillips informs me, greater even in the old 
country than in ours. I am glad you are likely to set- 
tle the question and show that a Yankee writer can get 
a copyright in England — little thanks to our own gov- 
ernment, which compels him to go there in order to 
get it. 

With sincere regard, believe me, dear Mrs. Stowe, 
Very truly yours, Wm. H. Prescott. 

From Liverpool, on the eve of her departure for 
America, Mrs. Stowe wrote to her daughters in Paris : — 

I spent the day before leaving London with Lady 
Byron. She is lovelier than ever, and inquired kindly 
about you both. I left London to go to Manchester, 
and reaching there found the Rev. Mr. Gaskell waiting 
to welcome me in the station. Mrs. Gaskell seems lovely 
at home, where besides being a writer she proves her- 
self to be a first-class housekeeper, and performs all 
the duties of a minister's wife. After spending a de- 
lightful day with her I came here to the beautiful 
" Dingle," which is more enchanting than ever. I am 


staying with Mrs. Edward Cropper, Lord Denman's 

I want you to tell Aunt Mary that Mr. Ruskin lives 
with his father at a place called Denmark Hill, Camber- 
well. He has told me that the gallery of Turner pic- 
tures there is open to me or my friends at any time of 
the day or night. Both young and old Mr. Ruskin are 
fine fellows, sociable and hearty, and will cordially wel- 
come any of my friends who desire to look at their 

I write in haste, as I must be aboard the ship to- 
morrow at eight o'clock. So good-by, my dear girls, 
from your ever affectionate mother. 

Her last letter written before sailing was to Lady 
Byron, and serves to show how warm an intimacy had 
sprung up between them. It was as follows : — 

June 5, 1857. 

Dear Friend, — I left you with a strange sort of 
yearning, throbbing feeling — you make me feel quite 
as I did years ago, a sort of girlishness quite odd for 
me. I have felt a strange longing to send you some- 
thing. Don't smile when you see what it turns out to 
be. I have a weakness for your pretty Parian things ; 
it is one of my own home peculiarities to have strong 
passions for pretty tea-cups and other little matters 
for my own quiet meals, when, as often happens, I am 
too unwell to join the family. So I send you a cup 
made of primroses, a funny little pitcher, quite large 
enough for cream, and a little vase for violets and 
primroses — which will be lovely together — and when 


you use it think of me and that I love you more than I 
can say. 

I often think how strange it is that I should know 
you — you who were a sort of legend of my early days 
— that I should love you is only a natural result. You 
seem to me to stand on the confines of that land where 
the poor formalities which separate hearts here pass like 
mist before the sun, and therefore it is that I feel the 
language of love must not startle you as strange or un- 
familiar. You are so nearly there in spirit that I fear 
with every adieu that it may be the last ; yet did you 
pass within the veil I should not feel you lost. 

I have got past the time when I feel that my heav- 
enly friends are lost by going there. I feel them 
nearer, rather than farther off. 

So good-by, dear, dear friend, and if you see morn- 
ing in our Father's house before I do, carry my love to 
those that wait for me, and if I pass first, you will find 
me there, and we shall love each other forever. 

Ever yours, H. B. Stowe. 

The homeward voyage proved a prosperous one, and 
it was followed by a joyous welcome to the " Cabin " 
in Andover. The world seemed very bright, and amid 
all her happiness came no intimation of the terrible 
blow about to descend upon the head of the devoted 
mother. \ 



Death of Mrs. Stowe's Oldest Son. — Letter to the Duchess of 
Sutherland. — Letter to her Daughters in Paris. — Letter 
to her Sister Catherine. — Visit to Brunswick and Orr's 
Island. — Writes " The Minister's Wooing " and " The Pearl 
of Orr's Island." — Mr. Whittier's Comments. — Mr. Lowell 
on the " Minister's Wooing." — Letter to Mrs. Stowe from 
Mr. Lowell. — John Ruskin on the " Minister's Wooing." — A 
Year of Sadness. — Letter to Lady Byron. — Letter to her 
Daughter. — Departure for Europe. 

Immediately after Mrs. Stowe's return from Eng- 
land in June, 1857, a crushing sorrow came upon her 
in the death of her oldest son, Henry Ellis, who was 
drowned while bathing in the Connecticut River at 
Hanover, N. H., where he was pursuing his studies as 
a member of the Freshman class in Dartmouth Col- 
lege. This melancholy event transpired the 9th of 
July, 1857, and the 3d of August Mrs. Stowe wrote to 
the Duchess of Sutherland : — 

Dear Friend, — Before this reaches you you will 
have perhaps learned from other sources of the sad 
blow which has fallen upon us, — our darling, our good, 
beautiful boy, snatched away in the moment of health 
md happiness. Alas ! could I know that when I parted 
Prom my Henry on English shores that I should never 
lee him more ? I returned to my home, and, amid the 


jubilee of meeting the rest, was fain to be satisfied with 
only a letter from him, saying that his college examina- 
tions were coming on, and he must defer seeing me a 
week or two till they were over. I thought then of 
taking his younger brother and going up to visit him ; 
but the health of the latter seeming unfavorably af- 
fected by the seacoast air, I turned back with him to 
a water-cure establishment. Before I had been two 
weeks absent a fatal telegram hurried me home, and 
when I arrived there it was to find the house rilled with 
his weeping classmates, who had just come bringing 
his remains. There he lay so calm, so placid, so peace- 
ful, that I could not believe that he would not smile 
upon me, and that my voice which always had such 
power over him could not recall him. There had al- 
ways been such a peculiar union, such a tenderness 
between us. I had had such power always to call up 
answering feelings to my own, that it seemed impossible 
that he could be silent and unmoved at my grief. But 
yet, dear friend, I am sensible that in this last sad scene 
I had an alleviation that was not granted to you. I 
recollect, in the mournful letter you wrote me about 
that time, you said that you mourned that you had 
never told your own dear one how much you loved him. 
That sentence touched me at the time. I laid it to 
heart, and from that time lost no occasion of express- 
ing to my children those feelings that we too often defer 
to express to our dearest friends till it is forever too 

He did fully know how I loved him, and some of the 
last loving words he spoke were of me. The very day 
that he was taken from us, and when he was just rising 


from the table of his boarding-house to go whence he 
never returned, some one noticed the seal ring, which 
you may remember to have seen on his finger, and said, 
How beautiful that ring is ! Yes, he said, and best of 
all, it was my mother's gift to me. That ring, taken 
from the lifeless hand a few hours later, was sent to 
me. Singularly enough, it is broken right across the 
name from a fall a little time previous. . . . 

It is a great comfort to me, dear friend, that I took 
Henry with me to Dunrobin. I hesitated about keep- 
ing him so long from his studies, but still I thought a 
mind so observing and appreciative might learn from 
such a tour more than through books, and so it was. 
He returned from England full of high resolves and 
manly purposes. " I may not be what the world calls 
a Christian," he wrote, " but I will live such a life as a 
Christian ought to live, such a life as every true man 
ought to live." Henceforth he became remarkable for 
a strict order and energy, and a vigilant temperance and 
care of his bodily health, docility and deference to his 
parents and teachers, and perseverance in every duty. 
. . . Well, from the hard battle of this life he is excused, 
and the will is taken for the deed, and whatever comes 
his heart will not be pierced as mine is. But I am glad 
that I can connect him with all my choicest remem- 
brances of the Old World. 

Dunrobin will always be dearer to me now, and I 
have felt towards you and the duke a turning of spirit, 
because I remember how kindly you always looked on 
and spoke to him. I knew then it was the angel of your 
lost one that stirred your hearts with tenderness when 
you looked on another so near his age. The plaid that 


the duke gave him, and which he valued as one of the 
chief of his boyish treasures, will hang in his room — 
for still we have a room that we call his. 

You will understand, you will feel, this sorrow with 
us as few can. My poor husband is much prostrated. 
I need not say more : you know what this must be to a 
father's heart. But still I repeat what I said when I 
saw you last. Our dead are ministering angels ; they 
teach us to love, they fill us with tenderness for all that 
can suffer. These weary hours when sorrow makes us 
for the time blind and deaf and dumb, have their 
promise. These hours come in answer to our prayers 
for nearness to God It is always our treasure that the 
lightning strikes. ... I have poured out my heart to 
you because you can understand. While I was visiting 
in Hanover, where Henry died, a poor, deaf old slave 
woman, who has still five children in bondage, came to 
comfort me. " Bear up, dear soul, she said ; you must 
bear it, for the Lord loves ye." She said further, 
" Sunday is a heavy day to me, 'cause I can't work, and 
can't hear preaching, and can't read, so I can't keep my 
mind off my poor children. Some on 'em the blessed 
Master 's got, and they 's safe ; but, oh, there are five 
that I don't know where they are." 

What are our mother sorrows to this ! I shall try 
to search out and redeem these children, though, from 
the ill success of efforts already made, I fear it will be 
hopeless. Every sorrow I have, every lesson on the 
sacredness of family love, makes me the more deter- 
mined to resist to the last this dreadful evil that makes 
so many mothers so much deeper mourners than I ever 
can be. . . . 

Affectionately yours, H. B. Stowe. 


About this same time she writes to her daughters in 
Paris : " Can anybody tell what sorrows are locked up 
with our best affections, or what pain may be associated 
with every pleasure ? As I walk the house, the pic- 
tures he used to love, the presents I brought him, and 
the photographs I meant to show him, all pierce my 
heart. I have had a dreadful faintness of sorrow come 
over me at times. I have felt so crushed, so bleeding, 
so helpless, that I could only call on my Saviour with 
groanings that could not be uttered. Your papa justly 
said, ' Every child that dies is for the time being an 
only one ; yes — his individuality no time, no change, 
can ever replace.' 

" Two days after the funeral your father and I went 
to Hanover. We saw Henry's friends, and his room, 
which was just as it was the day he left it. 

" ' There is not another such room in the college as 
his,' said one of his classmates with tears. I could not 
help loving the dear boys as they would come and look 
sadly in, and tell us one thing and another that they 
remembered of him. ' He was always talking of his 
home and his sisters,' said one. The very day he died 
he was so happy because I had returned, and he was 
expecting soon to go home and meet me. He died 
with that dear thought in his heart. 

" There was a beautiful lane leading down through a 
charming glen to the river. It had been for years the 
bathing-place of the students, and into the pure, clear 
water he plunged, little dreaming that he was never to 
jome out alive. 

u In the evening we went down to see the boating 
$lub of which he was a member. He was so happy in 


this boating club. They had a beautiful boat called 
the Una, and a uniform, and he enjoyed it so much. 

" This evening all the different crews were out ; but 
Henry's had their flag furled, and tied with black crape. 
I felt such love to the dear boys, all of them, because 
they loved Henry, that it did not pain me as it other- 
wise would. They were glad to see us there, and I was 
glad that we could be there. Yet right above where 
their boats were gliding in the evening light lay the 
bend in the river, clear, still, beautiful, fringed with 
overhanging pines, from whence our boy went upward 
to heaven. To heaven — if earnest, manly purpose, if 
sincere, deliberate strife with besetting sin is accepted 
of God, as I firmly believe it is. Our dear boy was 
but a beginner in the right way. Had he lived, we had 
hoped to see all wrong gradually fall from his soul as 
the worn-out calyx drops from the perfected flower. 
But Christ has taken him into his own teaching. 

" ' And one view of Jesus as He is, 
Will strike all sin forever dead.' 

" Since I wrote to you last we have had anniversary 
meetings, and with all the usual bustle and care, our 
house full of company. Tuesday we received a beauti- 
ful portrait of our dear Henry, life-size, and as perfect 
almost as life. It has just that half-roguish, half-loving 
expression with which he would look at me sometimes, 
when I would come and brush back his hair and look 
into his eyes. Every time I go in or out of the room, 
it seems to give so bright a smile that I almost think 
that a spirit dwells within it. 

" When I am so heavy, so weary, and go about as if 
I were wearing an arrow that had pierced my heart, I 


sometimes look up, and this smile seems to say, ( Mother, 
patience, I am happy. In our Father's house are many 
mansions.' Sometimes I think I am like a gardener 
who has planted the seed of some rare exotic. He 
watches as the two little points of green leaf first spring 
above the soil. He shifts it from soil to soil, from pot 
to pot. He watches it, waters it, saves it through thou- 
sands of mischiefs and accidents. He counts every leaf, 
and marks the strengthening of the stem, till at last the 
blossom bud was fully formed. What curiosity, what 
eagerness, — what expectation — what longing now to 
see the mystery unfold in the new flower. 

" Just as the calyx begins to divide and a faint streak 
of color becomes visible, — lo ! in one night the owner 
of the greenhouse sends and takes it away. He does 
not consult me, he gives me no warning ; he silently 
takes it and I look, but it is no more. What, then ? 
Do I suppose he has destroyed the flower? Far from 
it ; I know that he has taken it to his own garden. 
What Henry might have been I could guess better than 
any one. What Henry is, is known to Jesus only." 

Shortly after this time Mrs. Stowe wrote to her sister 
Catherine : — 

If ever I was conscious of an attack of the Devil try- 
ing to separate me from the love of Christ, it was for 
some days after the terrible news came. I was in a 
state of great physical weakness, most agonizing, and 
mable to control my thoughts. Distressing doubts as 
;o Henry's spiritual- state were rudely thrust upon my 
soul. It was as if a voice had said to me : " You 
rusted in God, did you? You believed that He loved 


you ! You had perfect confidence that he would never 
take your child till the work of grace was mature ! 
Now He has hurried him into eternity without a mo- 
ment's warning, without preparation, and where is he ? " 

I saw at last that these thoughts were irrational, and 
contradicted the calm, settled belief of my better mo- 
ments, and that they were dishonorable to God, and 
that it was my duty to resist them, and to assume and 
steadily maintain that Jesus in love had taken my dear 
one to his bosom. Since then the Enemy has left me 
in peace. 

It is our duty to assume that a thing which would 
be in its very nature unkind, ungenerous, and unfair 
has not been done. What should we think of the 
crime of that human being who should take a young 
mind from circumstances where it was progressing in 
virtue, and throw it recklessly into corrupting and 
depraving society? Particularly if it were the child 
of one who had trusted and confided in Him for years. 
No ! no such slander as this shall the Devil ever 
fix in my mind against my Lord and my God ! He 
who made me capable of such an absorbing, unselfish 
devotion for my children, so that I would sacrifice my 
eternal salvation for them, He certainly did not make 
me capable of more love, more disinterestedness than 
He has himself. He invented mothers' hearts, and He 
certainly has the pattern in his own, and my poor, weak 
rush-light of love is enough to show me that some 
things can and some things cannot be done. Mr. Stowe 
said in his sermon last Sunday that the mysteries of 
God's ways with us must be swallowed up by the greater 
mystery of the love of Christ, even as Aaron's rod swal- 
lowed up the rods of the magicians. 


Papa and mamma are here, and we have been read- 
ing over the " Autobiography and Correspondence." 
It is glorious, beautiful ; but more of this anon. 

Your affectionate sister, Hattie. 

Andover, August 24, 1857. 

Dear Children, — Since anniversary papa and I 
have been living at home ; Grandpa and Grandma 
Beecher are here also, and we have had much comfort 
in their society. . . . To-night the last sad duty is 
before us. The body is to be removed from the receiv- 
ing tomb in the Old South Churchyard, and laid in the 
graveyard near by. Pearson has been at work for a 
week on a lot that is to be thenceforth ours. 

" Our just inheritance consecrated by his grave ." 

How little he thought, wandering there as he often has 
with us, that his mortal form would so soon be resting 
there. Yet that was written for him. It was as cer- 
tain then as now, and the hour and place of our death 
is equally certain, though we know it not. 

It seems selfish that I should yearn to lie down by 
his side, but I never knew how much I loved him till 

The one lost piece of silver seems more than all the 
'est, — the one lost sheep dearer than all the fold, 
md I so long for one word, one look, one last em- 
>race. . . . 

Andover, September 1, 1857. 

My darling Children, — I must not allow a week 
1 o pass without sending a line to you. . . . Our home 
] ever looked lovelier. I never saw Andover look so 


beautiful ; the trees so green, the foliage so rich. 
Papa and I are just starting to spend a week in Bruns- 
wick, for I am so miserable — so weak — the least 
exertion fatigues me, and much of my time I feel a 
heavy languor, indifferent to everything. I know 
nothing is so likely to bring me up as the air of the 
seaside. ... I have set many flowers around Henry's 
grave, which are blossoming; pansies, white immor- 
telle, white petunia, and verbenas. Papa walks there 
every day, often twice or three times. The lot has 
been rolled and planted with fine grass, which is already 
up and looks green and soft as velvet, and the little 
birds gather about it. To-night as I sat there the sky 
was so beautiful, all rosy, with the silver moon looking 
out of it. Papa said with a deep sigh, " I am submis- 
sive, but not reconciled." 

Brunswick, September 6, 1857. 

My dear Girls, — Papa and I have been here for 
four or five days past. We both of us felt so unwell 
that we thought we would try the sea air and the dear 
old scenes of Brunswick. Everything here is just as 
we left it. We are staying with Mrs. Upham, whose 
house is as wide, cool, and hospitable as ever. The 
trees in the yard have grown finely, and Mrs. Upham 
has cultivated flowers so successfully that the house is 
all surrounded by them. Everything about the town is 
the same, even to Miss Gidding's old shop, which is as 
disorderly as ever, presenting the same medley of tracts, 
sewing-silk, darning-cotton, and unimaginable old bon- 
nets, which existed there of yore. She has been heard 
to complain that she can't find things as easily as once. 
Day before yesterday papa, Charley, and I went down 


to Harpswell about seven o'clock in the morning. The 
old spruces and firs look lovely as ever, and I was 
delighted, as I always used to be, with every step of 
the way. Old Getchell's mill stands as forlorn as ever 
in its sandy wastes, and More Brook creeps on glassy 
and clear beyond. Arriving at Harpswell a glorious 
hot day, with scarce a breeze to ruffle the water, papa 
and Charley went to fish for cunners, who soon proved 
too cwming for them, for they ate every morsel of bait 
off the hooks, so that out of twenty bites they only 
secured two or three. What they did get were fried 
for our dinner, reinforced by a fine clam-chowder. 
The evening was one of the most glorious I ever saw 
— a calm sea and round, full moon ; Mrs. Upham and 
I sat out on the rocks between the mainland and the 
island until ten o'clock. I never did see a more per- 
fect and glorious scene, and to add to it there was a 
splendid northern light dancing like spirits in the sky. 
Had it not been for a terrible attack of mosquitoes in 
our sleeping-rooms, that kept us up and fighting all 
night, we should have called it a perfect success. 

We went into the sea to bathe twice, once the day 
we came, and about eight o'clock in the morning be- 
fore we went back. Besides this we have been to Mid- 
lie Bay, where Charley, standing where you all stood 
before him, actually caught a flounder with his own 
land, whereat he screamed loud enough to scare all the 
? olks on Eagle Island. We have also been to Maquoit. 
We have visited the old pond, and, if I mistake not, the 
elics of your old raft yet float there ; at all events, one 
• >r two fragments of a raft are there, caught among 
: ushes. 


I do not realize that one of the busiest and happiest 
of the train who once played there shall play there no 
more. " He shall return to his house no more, neither 
shall his place know him any more." I think I have 
felt the healing touch of Jesus of Nazareth on the deep 
wound in my heart, for I have golden hours of calm 
when I say : " Even so, Father, for so it seemed good 
in thy sight." So sure am I that the most generous 
love has ordered all, that I can now take pleasure to 
give this little proof of my unquestioning confidence in 
resigning one of my dearest comforts to Him. I feel 
very near the spirit land, and the words, " I shall go to 
him, but he shall not return to me," are very sweet. 

Oh, if God would give to you, my dear children, a 
view of the infinite beauty of Eternal Love, — if He 
would unite us in himself, then even on earth all tears 
might be wiped away. 

Papa has preached twice to-day, and is preaching 
again to-night. He told me to be sure to write and 
send you his love. I hope his health is getting better. 
Mrs. Upham sends you her best love, and hopes you 
will make her a visit some time. 

Good-by, my darlings. Come soon to your affection- 
ate mother. H. B. S. 

The winter of 1857 was passed quietly and unevent- 
fully at Andover. In November Mrs. Stowe contrib- 
uted to the " Atlantic Monthly " a touching little alle- 
gory, " The Mourning Veil." 

In December, 1858, the first chapter of " The Minis- 
ter's Wooing " appeared in the same magazine. Sim- 
ultaneously with this story was written " The Pearl of 


Orr's Island," published first as a serial in the " Inde- 

She dictated a large part of "The Minister's Woo- 
ing " under a great pressure of mental excitement, and 
it was a relief to her to turn to the quiet story of the 
coast of Maine, which she loved so well. 

In February, 1874, Mrs. Stowe received the follow- 
ing words from Mr. Whittier, which are very interest- 
ing; in this connection : " When I am in the mood for 
thinking deeply I read ' The Minister's Wooing.' But 
' The Pearl of Orr's Island ' is my favorite. It is the 
most charming New England idyl ever written." 

" The Minister's Wooing " was received with univer- 
sal commendation from the first, and called forth the 
following appreciative words from the pen of Mr. 
James Russell Lowell : — 

"It has always seemed to us that the anti-slavery 
element in the two former novels by Mrs. Stowe stood 
in the way of a full appreciation of her remarkable 
genius, at least in her own country. It was so easy to 
account for the unexampled popularity of 6 Uncle Tom' 
by attributing it to a cheap sympathy with sentimental 
philanthropy ! As people began to recover from the 
first enchantment, they began also to resent it and to 
complain that a dose of that insane Garrison-root which 
takes the reason prisoner had been palmed upon them 
without their knowing it, and that their ordinary water- 
gruel of fiction, thinned with sentiment and thickened 
with moral, had been hocussed with the bewildering 
hasheesh of Abolition. We had the advantage of 
reading that truly extraordinary book for the first time 
in Paris, long after the whirl of excitement produced by 


its publication had subsided, in the seclusion of dis- 
tance, and with a judgment unbiased by those political 
sympathies which it is impossible, perhaps unwise, to 
avoid at home. We felt then, and we believe now, that 
the secret of Mrs. Stowe's power lay in that same 
genius by which the great successes in creative liter- 
ature have always been achieved, — the genius that 
instinctively goes right to the organic elements of 
human nature, whether under a white skin or a black, 
and which disregards as trivial the conventional and 
factitious notions which make so large a part both of 
our thinking and feeling. Works of imagination writ- 
ten with an aim to immediate impression are commonly 
ephemeral, like Miss Martineau's l Tales,' and Elliott's 
' Corn-law Rhymes ; ' but the creative faculty of Mrs. 
Stowe, like that of Cervantes in ' Don Quixote ' and of 
Fielding in i Joseph Andrews,' overpowered the narrow 
specialty of her design, and expanded a local and tem- 
porary theme with the cosmopolitanism of genius. 

" It is a proverb that ' There is a great deal of human 
nature in men,' but it is equally and sadly true that there 
is amazingly little of it in books. Fielding is the only 
English novelist who deals with life in its broadest 
sense. Thackeray, his disciple and congener, and Dick- 
ens, the congener of Smollett, do not so much treat of 
life as of the strata of society ; the one studying nature 
from the club-room window, the other from the report- 
ers' box in the police court. It may be that the gen- 
eral obliteration of distinctions of rank in this country, 
which is generally considered a detriment to the novel- 
ist, will in the end turn to his advantage by compell- 
ing him to depend for his effects on the contrasts and 


collisions of innate character, rather than on those shal- 
lower traits superinduced by particular social arrange- 
ments, or by hereditary associations. Shakespeare drew 
ideal, and Fielding natural men and women ; Thack- 
eray draws either gentlemen or snobs, and Dickens 
either unnatural men or the oddities natural only in the 
lowest grades of a highly artificial system of society. 
The first two knew human nature ; of the two latter, 
one knows what is called the world, and the other the 
streets of London. Is it possible that the very social 
democracy which here robs the novelist of so much 
romance, so much costume, so much antithesis of caste, 
so much in short that is purely external, will give him 
a set-off in making it easier for him to get at that ele- 
ment of universal humanity which neither of the two 
extremes of an aristocratic system, nor the salient and 
picturesque points of contrast between the two, can 
alone lay open to him ? 

" We hope to see this problem solved by Mrs. Stowe. 
That kind of romantic interest which Scott evolved 
from the relations of lord and vassal, of thief and clans- 
man, from the social more than the moral contrast of 
Roundhead and Cavalier, of far-descended pauper and 
nouveau riche which Cooper found in the clash of sav- 
agery with civilization, and the shaggy virtue bred on 
the border-land between the two, Indian by habit, white 
by tradition, Mrs. Stowe seems in her former novels to 
have sought in a form of society alien to her sympa- 
thies, and too remote for exact study, or for the acquire- 
ment of that local truth which is the slow result of 
unconscious observation. There can be no stronger 
proof of the greatness of her genius, of her possessing 


that conceptive faculty which belongs to the higher 
order of imagination, than the avidity with which 
' Uncle Tom ' was read at the South. It settled the 
point that this book was true to human nature, even if 
not minutely so to plantation life. 

" If capable of so great a triumph where success must 
so largely depend on the sympathetic insight of her 
mere creative power, have we not a right to expect 
something far more in keeping with the requirements of 
art, now that her wonderful eye is to be the mirror of 
familiar scenes, and of a society in which she was bred, 
of which she has seen so many varieties, and that, too, 
in the country, where it is most naive and original ? 
It is a great satisfaction to us that in ' The Minister's 
Wooing ' she has chosen her time and laid her scene 
amid New England habits and traditions. There is no 
other writer who is so capable of perpetuating for us, in 
a work of art, a style of thought and manners which 
railways and newspapers will soon render as palaeozoic 
as the mastodon or the megalosaurians. Thus far the 
story has fully justified our hopes. The leading char- 
acters are all fresh and individual creations. Mrs. 
Kate Scudder, the notable Yankee housewife ; Mary, in 
whom Cupid is to try conclusions with Calvin ; James 
Marvyn, the adventurous boy of the coast, in whose 
heart the wild religion of nature swells till the strait 
swathings of Puritanism are burst ; Dr. Hopkins, the 
conscientious minister come upon a time when the social 
prestige of the clergy is waning, and whose independ- 
ence will test the voluntary system of ministerial sup- 
port ; Simeon Brown, the man of theological dialectics, 
in whom the utmost perfection of creed is shown to be 


not inconsistent with the most contradictory imperfec- 
tion of life, — all these are characters new to literature. 
And the scene is laid just far enough away in point of 
time to give proper tone and perspective. 

" We think we find in the story, so far as it has pro- 
ceeded, the promise of an interest as unhackneyed as it 
will be intense. There is room for the play of all the 
passions and interests that make up the great tragi- 
comedy of life, while all the scenery and accessories 
will be those which familiarity has made dear to us. 
We are a little afraid of Colonel Burr, to be sure, it is 
so hard to make a historical personage fulfill the condi- 
tions demanded by the novel of every-day life. He is 
almost sure either to fall below our traditional concep- 
tion of him, or to rise above the natural and easy level 
of character, into the vague or the melodramatic. More- 
over, we do not want a novel of society from Mrs. 
Stowe ; she is quite too good to be wasted in that way, 
and her tread is much more firm on the turf of the 
" door-yard " or the pasture, and the sanded floor of 
the farmhouse, than on the velvet of the salon. We 
have no notion how she is to develop her plot, but we 
think we foresee chances for her best power in the 
struggle which seems foreshadowed between Mary's 
conscientious, admiration of the doctor and her half- 
conscious passion for James, before she discovers that 
one of these conflicting feelings means simply moral 
liking and approval, and the other that she is a woman 
and that she loves. And is not the value of dogmatic 
theology as a rule of life to be thoroughly tested for 
the doctor by his slave-trading parishioners ? Is he not 
to learn the bitter difference between intellectual accept- 


ance of a creed and that true partaking of the sacra- 
ment of love and faith and sorrow that makes Christ 
the very life-blood of our being and doing ? And has 
not James Marvyn also his lesson to be taught ? We 
foresee him drawn gradually back by Mary from his 
recoil against Puritan formalism to a perception of how 
every creed is pliant and plastic to a beautiful nature, 
of how much charm there may be in an hereditary 
faith, even if it have become almost conventional. 

" In the materials of character already present in the 
story, there is scope for Mrs. Stowe's humor, pathos, 
clear moral sense, and quick eye for the scenery of life. 
We do not believe that there is any one who, by birth, 
breeding, and natural capacity, has had the opportunity 
to know New England so well as she, or who has the 
peculiar genius so to profit by the knowledge. Already 
there have been scenes in l The Minister's Wooing ' 
that, in their lowness of tone and quiet truth, contrast 
as charmingly with the humid vagueness of the modern 
school of novel-writers as ' The Vicar of Wakefield ' 
itself, and we are greatly mistaken if it do not prove to 
be the most characteristic of Mrs. Stowe's works, and ' 
therefore that on which her fame will chiefly rest with 

" The Minister's Wooing " was not completed as a 
serial till December, 1859. Long before its comple- 
tion Mrs. Stowe received letters from many interested 
readers, who were as much concerned for the future of 
her "spiritual children," as George Eliot would call 
them, as if they had been flesh and blood. 

The following letter from Mr. Lowell is given as the 
most valuable received by Mrs. Stowe at this time : — 


Cambridge, February 4, 1859. 

My dear Mrs. Stowe, — I certainly did mean to 
write you about your story, but only to cry bravissima ! 
with the rest of the world. I intended no kind of 
criticism ; deeming it wholly out of place, and in the 
nature of a wet-blanket, so long- as a story is unfinished. 
When I got the first number in MS., I said to Mr. Phil- 
lips that I thought it would be the best thing you had 
done, and what followed has only confirmed my first 
judgment. From long habit, and from the tendency 
of my studies, I cannot help looking at things purely 
from an aesthetic point of view, and what / valued in 
" Uncle Tom " was the genius, and not the moral. 
That is saying a good deal, for I never use the word 
genius at haphazard, and always (perhaps, too) spar- 
ingly. I am going to be as frank as I ought to be 
with one whom I value so highly. What especially 
charmed me in the new story was, that you had taken 
your stand on New England ground. You are one of 
the few persons lucky enough to be born with eyes in 
your head, — that is, with something behind the eyes 
which makes them of value. To most people the see- 
ing apparatus is as useless as the great telescope at the 
observatory is to me, — something to stare through with 
no intelligent result. Nothing could be better than 
the conception of your plot (so far as I divine it), and 
the painting-in of your figures. As for " theology," 
it is as much a part of daily life in New England as in 
Scotland, and all I should have to say about it is this : 
let it crop out when it naturally comes to the surface, 
only don't dig down to it. A moral aim is a fine thing, 
but in making a story an artist is a traitor who does 


not sacrifice everything to art. Remember the lesson 
that Christ gave us twice over. First, he preferred the 
useless Mary to the dish-washing Martha, and next, 
when that exemplary moralist and friend of humanity, 
Judas, objected to the sinful waste of the Magdalen's 
ointment, the great Teacher would rather it should be 
wasted in an act of simple beauty than utilized for the 
benefit of the poor. Cleopatra was an artist when she 
dissolved her biggest pearl to captivate her Antony- 
public. May I, a critic by profession, say the whole 
truth to a woman of genius ? Yes ? And never be 
forgiven ? I shall try, and try to be forgiven, too. In 
the first place, pay no regard to the advice of anybody. 
In the second place, pay a great deal to mine ! A Kil- 
kenny-cattish style of advice? Not at all. My advice is 
to follow your own instincts, — to stick to nature, and 
to avoid what people commonly call the " Ideal ; " for 
that, and beauty, and pathos, and success, all lie in the 
simply natural. We all preach it, from Wordsworth 
down, and we all, from Wordsworth down, don't prac- 
tice it. Don't I feel it every day in this weary editorial 
mill of mine, that there are ten thousand people who 
can write " ideal " things for one who can see, and feel, 
and reproduce nature and character ? Ten thousand, 
did I say ? Nay, ten million. What made Shake- 
speare so great ? Nothing but eyes and — faith in 
them. The same is true of Thackeray. I see nowhere 
more often than in authors the truth that men love 
their opposites. Dickens insists on being tragic and 
makes shipwreck. 

I always thought (forgive me) that the Hebrew parts 
of " Dred " were a mistake. Do not think me imper- 


tinent ; I am only honestly anxious that what I con- 
sider a very remarkable genius should have faith in 
itself. Let your moral take care of itself, and remem- 
ber that an author's writing-desk is something infinitely 
higher than a pulpit. What I call " care of itself " is 
shown in that noble passage in the February number 
about the ladder up to heaven. That is grand preach- 
ing and in the right way. I am sure that " The Minis- 
ter's Wooing " is going to be the best of your products 
hitherto, and I • am sure of it because you show so 
thorough a mastery of your material, so true a percep- 
tion of realities, without which the ideality is im- 

As for " orthodoxy," be at ease. Whatever is well 
done the world finds orthodox at last, in spite of all 
the Fakir journals, whose only notion of orthodoxy 
seems to be the power of standing in one position till 
you lose all the use of your limbs. If, with your heart 
and brain, you are not orthodox, in Heaven's name who 
is ? If you mean " Calvinistic," no woman could ever 
be such, for Calvinism is logic, and no woman worth 
the name could ever live by syllogisms. Woman 
charms a higher faculty in us than reason, God be 
praised, and nothing has delighted me more in your new 
story than the happy instinct with which you develop 
this incapacity of the lovers' logic in your female char- 
acters. Go on just as you have begun, and make it 
appear in as many ways as you like, — that, whatever 
creed may be true, it is not true and never will be that 
man can be saved by machinery. I can speak with 
some chance of being right, for I confess a strong 
sympathy with many parts of Calvinistic theology, and, 


for one thing, believe in hell with all my might, and in" 
the goodness of God for all that. 

I have not said anything. What could I say ? One 
might almost as well advise a mother about the child 
she still bears under her heart, and say, give it these 
and those qualities, as an author about a work yet in 
the brain. 

Only this I will say, that I am honestly delighted 
with " The Minister's Wooing ; " that reading it has 
been one of my few editorial pleasures ; that no one 
appreciates your genius more highly than I, or hopes 
more fervently that you will let yourself go without re- 
gard to this, that, or t'other. Don't read any criticisms 
on your story : believe that you know better than any 
of us, and be sure that everybody likes it. That I 
know. There is not, and never was, anybody so com- 
petent to write a true New England poem as yourself, 
and have no doubt that you are doing it. The native 
sod sends up the best inspiration to the brain, and you 
are as sure of immortality as we all are of dying, — if 
you only go on with entire faith in yourself. 

Faithfully and admiringly yours, 

J. R. Lowell. 

After the book was published in England, Mr. Rus- 
kin wrote to Mrs. Stowe : — 

" Well, I have read the book now, and I think noth- 
ing can be nobler than the noble parts of it (Mary's 
great speech to Colonel Burr, for instance), nothing 
wiser than the wise parts of it (the author's parenthet- 
ical and under-breath remarks), nothing more delight- 
ful than the delightful parts (all that Virginie says and 


does), nothing more edged than the edged parts (Can- 
dace's sayings and doings, to wit) ; but I do not like the 
plan of the whole, because the simplicity of the minister 
seems to diminish the probability of Mary's reverence 
for him. I cannot fancy even so good a girl who would 
not have laughed at him. Nor can I fancy a man of 
real intellect reaching such a period of life without 
understanding his own feelings better, or penetrating 
those of another more quickly. 

" Then I am provoked at nothing happening to Mrs. 
Scudder, whom I think as entirely unendurable a crea- 
ture as ever defied poetical justice at the end of a novel 
meant to irritate people. And finally, I think you are 
too disdainful of what ordinary readers seek in a novel, 
under the name of i interest,' — that gradually develop- 
ing wonder, expectation, and curiosity which makes 
people who have no self-command sit up till three in 
the morning to get to the crisis, and people who have 
self-command lay the book down with a resolute sigh, 
and think of it all the next day through till the time 
comes for taking it up again. Still, I know well that 
in many respects it was impossible for you to treat this 
story merely as a work of literary art. There must 
have been many facts which you could not dwell upon, 
and which no one may judge by common rules. 

"It is also true, as you say once or twice in the 
course of the work, that we have not among us here 
the peculiar religious earnestness you have mainly to 

" We have little earnest formalism, and our formalists 
are for the most part hollow, feeble, uninteresting, mere 
stumbling-blocks. We have the Simeon Brown species, 


indeed ; and among readers even of his kind the book 
may do some good, and more among the weaker, truer 
people, whom it will shake like mattresses, — making 
the dust fly, and perhaps with it some of the sticks and 
quill-ends, which often make that kind of person an 
objectionable mattress. I write too lightly of the book, 
— far too lightly, — but your letter made me gay, and 
I have been lighter-hearted ever since ; only I kept this 
after beginning it, because I was ashamed to send it 
without a line to Mrs. Browning as well. I do not 
understand why you should apprehend (or rather antici- 
pate without apprehension) any absurd criticism on it. 
It is sure to be a popular book, — not as ' Uncle Tom ' 
was, for that owed part of its popularity to its dramatic 
effect (the flight on the ice, etc.), which I did not like ; 
but as a true picture of human life is always popular. 
Nor, I should think, would any critics venture at all to 
carp at it. 

" The Candace and Virginie bits appear to me, as far 
as I have yet seen, the best. I am very glad there is 
this nice French lady in it : the French are the least 
appreciated in general, of all nations, by other nations. 
. . . My father says the book is worth its weight in 
gold, and he knows good work." 

When we turn from these criticisms and commenda- 
tions to the inner history of this period, we find that 
the work was done in deep sadness of heart, and the 
undertone of pathos that forms the dark background 
of the brightest and most humorous parts of "The 
Minister's Wooing " was the unconscious revelation of 
one of sorrowful spirit, who, weary of life, would have 


been glad to lie down with her arms " round the way- 
side cross, and sleep away into a brighter scene." 

Just before beginning the writing of "The Minis- 
ter's Wooing " she sent the following letter to Lady 
Byron : — 

Andover, June 30, 1858. 

My dear Friend, — I did long to hear from you 
at a time when few knew how to speak, because I knew 
that you did know everything that sorrow can teach, 
— you whose whole life has been a crucifixion, a long 
ordeal. But I believe that the " Lamb," who stands 
forever in the midst of the throne " as it had been 
slain," has everywhere his followers, those who are sent 
into the world, as he was, to suffer for the redemption 
of others, and like him they must look to the joy set 
before them of redeeming others. 

I often think that God called you to this beautiful 
and terrible ministry when He suffered you to link 
your destiny with one so strangely gifted, so fearfully 
tempted, and that the reward which is to meet you, 
when you enter within the veil, where you must soon 
pass, will be to see the angel, once chained and defiled 
within him, set free from sin and glorified, and so know 
that to you it has been given, by your life of love and 
faith, to accomplish this glorious change. 

I think very much on the subject on which you con- 
versed with me once, — the future state of retribution. 
It is evident to me that the spirit of Christianity has 
produced in the human spirit a tenderness of love which 
wholly revolts from the old doctrine on the subject, and 
I observe the more Christ-like any one becomes, the 
more impossible it seems for him to accept it ; and yet, 


on the contrary, it was Christ who said, " Fear Him 
that is able to destroy soul and body in hell," and the 
most appalling language on this subject is that of Christ 
himself. Certain ideas once prevalent certainly must 
be thrown off. An endless infliction for past sins was 
once the doctrine that we now generally reject. The 
doctrine as now taught is that of an eternal persistence 
in evil necessitating eternal punishment, since evil in- 
duces misery by an eternal nature of things, and this, 
I fear, is inferable from the analogies of nature, and 
confirmed by the whole implication of the Bible. 

Is there any fair way of disposing of the current of 
assertion, and the still deeper undercurrent of implica- 
tion, on this subject, without one which loosens all faith 
in revelation, and throws us on pure naturalism ? But 
of one thing I am sure, — probation does not end with 
this life, and the number of the redeemed may there- 
fore be infinitely greater than the world's history leads 
us to suppose. 

The views expressed in this letter certainly throw 
light on many passages in " The Minister's Wooing." 

The following letter, written to her daughter Georgi- 
ana, is introduced as revealing the spirit in which much 
of " The Minister's Wooing " was written : — 

February 12, 1859. 

My dear Georgie, — Why have n't I written ? Be- 
cause, dear Georgie, I am like the dry, dead, leafless 
tree, and have only cold, dead, slumbering buds of hope 
on the end of stiff, hard, frozen twigs of thought, but 
no leaves, no blossoms ; nothing to send to a little girl 


who doesn't know what to do with herself any more 
than a kitten. I am cold, weary, dead ; everything is 
a burden to me. 

I let my plants die by inches before my eyes, and do 
not water them, and I dread everything I do, and wish 
it was not to be done, and so when I get a letter from 
my little girl I smile and say, " Dear little puss, I will 
answer it ; " and I sit hour after hour with folded hands, 
looking at the inkstand and dreading to begin. The 
fact is, pussy, mamma is tired. Life to you is gay and 
joyous, but to mamma it has been a battle in which the 
spirit is willing but the flesh weak, and she would be 
glad, like the woman in the St. Bernard, to lie down 
with her arms around the wayside cross, and sleep away 
into a brighter scene. Henry's fair, sweet face looks 
down upon me now and then from out a cloud, and I 
feel again all the bitterness of the eternal " No " which 
says I must never, never, in this life, see that face, lean 
on that arm, hear that voice. Not that my faith in God 
in the least fails, and that I do not believe that all this 
is for good. I do, and though not happy, I am blessed. 
Weak, weary as I am, I rest on Jesus in the innermost 
depth of my soul, and am quite sure that there is com- 
ing an inconceivable hour of beauty and glory when I 
shall regain Jesus, and he will give me back my beloved 
one, whom he is educating in a far higher sphere than 
I proposed. So do not mistake me, — only know that 
mamma is sitting weary by the wayside, feeling weak 
and worn, but in no sense discouraged. 

Your affectionate mother, 

H. B. S. 


So is it ever : when with bold step we press our way 
into the holy place where genius hath wrought, we find 
it to be a place of sorrows. Art has its Gethsemane 
and its Calvary as well as religion. Our best loved 
books and sweetest songs are those " that tell of sad- 
dest thought." 

The summer of 1859 found Mrs. Stowe again on her 
way to Europe, this time accompanied by all her chil- 
dren except the youngest. 



Third Visit to Europe. — Lady Byron on " The Minister's "Woo- 
ing." — Some Foreign People and Things as they Appeared 
to Professor Stowe. — A Winter in Italy. — Things Unseen 
and unrevealed. — speculations concerning spiritualism. — 
John Ruskin. — Mrs. Browning. — The Return to America. 
— Letters to Dr. Holmes. 

Mrs. Stowe's third and last trip to Europe was un- 
dertaken in the summer of 1859. In writing to Lady 
Byron in May of that year, she says : " I am at present 
writing- something that interests me greatly, and may 
interest you, as an attempt to portray the heart and life 
of New England, its religion, theology, and manners. 
Sampson Low & Son are issuing it in numbers, and I 
should be glad to know how they strike you. It is to 
publish this work complete that I intend to visit Eng- 
land this summer." 

The story thus referred to was " The Minister's Woo- 
ing," and Lady Byron's answer to the above, which is 
appended, leaves no room for doubt as to her apprecia- 
tion of it. She writes : — 

London, May 31, 1859. 

Dear Friend, — I have found, particularly as to 
yourself, that if I did not answer from the first impulse, 
all had evaporated. Your letter came by the Niagara, 
which brought Fanny Kemble, to learn the loss of her 
best friend, that Miss Fitzhugh whom you saw at my 


I have an intense interest in your new novel. More 
power in these few numbers than in any of your former 
writings, relatively, at least to my own mind. More 
power than in " Adam Bede," which is the book of the 
season, and well deserves a high place. Whether Mrs. 
Scudder will rival Mrs. Poyser, we shall see. 

It would amuse you to hear my granddaughter and 
myself attempting to foresee the future of the " love 
story," being quite persuaded for the moment that James 
is at sea, and the minister about to ruin himself. We 
think that she will labor to be in love with the self- 
devoting man, under her mother's influence, and from 
that hyper-conscientiousness so common with good girls, 
— but we don't wish her to succeed. Then what is to 
become of her older lover ? He — Time will show. I 
have just missed Dale Owen, with whom I wished to 
have conversed about the " Spiritualism." Harris is 
lecturing here on religion. I do not hear him praised. 
People are looking for helps to believe everywhere but 
in life, — in music, in architecture, in antiquity, in cer- 
emony, — and upon all is written, " Thou shalt not 
believe." At least, if this be faith, happier the unbe- 
liever. I am willing to see through that materialism, 
but if I am to rest there, I would rend the veil. 

June 1. The day of the packet's sailing. I shall 
hope to be visited by you here. The best flowers sent 
me have been placed in your little vases, giving life, as 
it were, to the remembrance of you, though not to pass 
away like them. 

Ever yours, 

A. T. Noel Byron. 


The entire family, with the exception of the youngest 
son, was abroad at this time. The two eldest daughters 
were in Paris, having previously sailed for Havre in 
March, in company with their cousin, Miss Beecher. 
On their arrival in Paris, they went directly to the 
house of their old friend, Madame Borione, and soon 
afterwards entered a Protestant school. The rest of 
the family, including Mrs. Stowe, her husband and 
youngest daughter, sailed for Liverpool early in Au- 
gust. At about the same time, Fred Stowe, in com- 
pany with his friend Samuel Scoville, took passage for 
the same port in a sailing vessel. A comprehensive 
outline of the earlier portion of this foreign tour is 
given in the following letter written by Professor Stowe 
to the sole member of the family remaining in America : 

Castle Chillon, Switzerland, September 1, 1859. 

Dear little Charley, — We are all here except 
Fred, and all well. We have had a most interesting 
journey, of which I must give a brief account. 

We sailed from New York in the steamer Asia, on 
the 3d of August [1859], a very hot day, and for ten 
days it was the hottest weather I ever knew at sea. 
We had a splendid ship's company, mostly foreigners, 
Italians, Spaniards, with a sprinkling of Scotch and 
Irish. We passed one big iceberg in the night close to, 
and as the iceberg would n't turn out for us we turned 
out for the iceberg, and were very glad to come off so. 
This was the night of the 9th of August, and after 
that we had cooler weather, and on the morning of the 
13th the wind blew like all possessed, and so con- 
tinued till afternoon. Sunday morning, the 14th, we 


got safe into Liverpool, landed, and went to the Adel- 
phi Hotel. Mamma and Georgie were only a little 
sick on the way over, and that was the morning of the 

As it was court time, the high sheriff of Lancashire, 
Sir Robert Gerauld, a fine, stout, old, gray-haired John 
Bull, came thundering up to the hotel at noon in his 
grand coach with six beautiful horses with outriders, 
and two trumpeters, and twelve men with javelins for a 
guard, all dressed in the gayest manner, and rushing 
along like Time in the primer, the trumpeters too-ti-toot- 
tooing like a house a-fire, and how I wished my little 
Charley had been there to see it ! 

Monday we wanted to go and see the court, so we 
went over to St. George's Hall, a most magnificent 
structure, that beats the Boston State House all hollow, 
and Sir Robert Gerauld himself met us, and said he 
would get us a good place. So he took us away round 
a narrow, crooked passage, and opened a little door, 
where we saw nothing but a great, crimson curtain, 
which he told us to put aside and go straight on ; and 
where do you think we all found ourselves ? 

Right on the platform with the judges in their big 
wigs and long robes, and facing the whole crowded 
court ! It was enough to frighten a body into fits, but 
we took it quietly as we could, and your mamma looked 
as meek as Moses in her little, battered straw hat and 
gray cloak, seeming to say, " I did n't come here o' 

That same night we arrived in London, and Tuesday 
(August 16th), riding over the city, we called at Stafford 
House, and inquired if the Duchess of Sutherland was 


there. A servant came out and said the duchess was 
in and would be very glad to see us ; so your mamma, 
Georgie, and I went walking up the magnificent stair- 
case in the entrance hall, and the great, noble, bril- 
liant duchess came sailing down the stairs to meet 
us, in her white morning dress (for it was only four 
o'clock in the afternoon, and she was not yet dressed 
for dinner), took your mamma into her great bosom, 
and folded her up till the little Yankee woman looked 
like a small gray kitten half covered in a snowbank, 
and kissed and kissed her, and then she took up little 
Georgie and kissed her, and then she took my hand, 
and did n't kiss me. 

Next day we went to the duchess's villa, near Wind- 
sor Castle, and had a grand time riding round the park, 
sailing on the Thames, and eating the very best dinner 
that was ever set on a table. 

We stayed in London till the 25th of August, and 
then went to Paris and found H. and E. and H. B. 
all well and happy ; and on the 30th of August we all 
went to Geneva together, and to-day, the 1st of Sep- 
tember, we all took a sail up the beautiful Lake Leman 
here in the midst of the Alps, close by the old castle 
of Chillon, about which Lord Byron has written a poem. 
In a day or two we shall go to Chamouni, and then 
Georgie and I will go back to Paris and London, and 
so home at the time appointed. Until then I remain 
as ever, Your loving father, 

C. E. Stowe. 

Mrs. Stowe accompanied her husband and daughter 
to England, where, after traveling and visiting for two 


weeks, she bade them good-by and returned to her 
daughters in Switzerland. From Lausanne she writes 
under date of October 9th : — 

My dear Husband, — Here we are at Lausanne, in 
the Hotel Gibbon, occupying the very parlor that the 
Ruskins had when we were here before. The day I 
left you I progressed prosperously to Paris. Reached 
there about one o'clock at night ; could get no carriage, 
and finally had to turn in at a little hotel close by the 
station, where I slept till morning. I could not but 
think what if anything should happen to me there ? No- 
body knew me or where I was, but the bed was clean, 
the room respectable ; so I locked my door and slept, 
then took a carriage in the morning, and found Madame 
Borione at breakfast. I write to-night, that you may 
get a letter from me at the earliest possible date after 
your return. 

Instead of coming to Geneva in one day, I stopped 
over one night at Macon, got to Geneva the next day 
about four o'clock, and to Lausanne at eight. Coming 
up-stairs and opening the door, I found the whole party 
seated with their books and embroidery about a centre- 
table, and looking as homelike and cosy as possible. 
You may imagine the greetings, the kissing, laughing, 
and good times generally. 

From Lausanne the merry party traveled toward 
Florence by easy stages, stopping at Lake Como, Milan, 
Verona, Venice, Genoa, and Leghorn. At Florence, 
where they arrived early in November, they met Fred 
Stowe and his friend, Samuel Scoville, and here they 


were also joined by their Brooklyn friends, the How- 
ards. Thus it was a large and thoroughly congenial 
party that settled down in the old Italian city to spend 
the winter. From here Mrs. Stowe wrote weekly letters 
to her husband in Andover, and among them are the 
following, that not only throw light upon their mode of 
life, but illustrate a marked tendency of her mind : — 

Florence, Christmas Day, 1859. 

My dear Husband, — I wish you all a Merry Christ- 
mas, hoping to spend the next one with you. 

For us, we are expecting to spend this evening with 
quite a circle of American friends. With Scoville and 
Fred came L. Bacon (son of Dr. Bacon) ; a Mr. Porter, 
who is to study theology at Andover, and is now mak- 
ing the tour of Europe ; Mr. Clarke, formerly minister at 
Cornwall ; Mr. Jenkyns, of Lowell ; Mr. and Mrs. How- 
ard, John and Annie Howard, who came in most unex- 
pectedly upon us last night. So we shall have quite a 
New England party, and shall sing Millais' Christmas 
hymn in great force. Hope you will all do the same in 
the old stone cabin. 

Our parlor is all trimmed with laurel and myrtle, look- 
ing like a great bower, and our mantel and table are 
redolent with bouquets of orange blossoms and pinks. 

January 16, 1860. 

My dear Husband, — Your letter received to-day 
has raised quite a weight from my mind, for it shows 
that at last you have received all mine, and that thus 
the chain of communication between us is unbroken. 
What you said about your spiritual experiences in feel- 


ing the presence of dear Henry with you, and, above 
all, the vibration of that mysterious guitar, was very 
pleasant to me. Since I have been in Florence, I have 
been distressed by inexpressible yearnings after him, — 
such sighings and outreachings, with a sense of utter 
darkness and separation, not only from him but from 
all spiritual communion with my God. But I have be- 
come acquainted with a friend through whom I receive 
consoling impressions of these things, — a Mrs. E., of 
Boston, a very pious, accomplished, and interesting 
woman, who has had a history much like yours in rela- 
tion to spiritual manifestations. 

Without doubt she is what the spiritualists would 
regard as a very powerful medium, but being a very 
earnest Christian, and afraid of getting led astray, she 
has kept carefully aloof from all circles and things of 
that nature. She came and opened her mind to me in 
the first place, to ask my advice as to what she had bet- 
ter do ; relating experiences very similar to many of 

My advice was substantially to try the spirits whether 
they were of God, — to keep close to the Bible and 
prayer, and then accept whatever came. But I have 
found that when I am with her I receive very strong 
impressions from the spiritual world, so that I feel often 
sustained and comforted, as if I had been near to my 
Henry and other departed friends. This has been at 
times so strong as greatly to soothe and support me. I 
told her your experiences, in which she was greatly in- 
terested. She said it was so rare to hear of Christian 
and reliable people with such peculiarities. 

I cannot, however, think that Henry strikes the guitar, 


— that must be Eliza. Her spirit has ever seemed to 
cling to that mode of manifestation, and if you would 
keep it in your sleeping-room, no doubt you would hear 
from it oftener. I have been reading lately a curious 
work from an old German in Paris who has been mak- 
ing experiments in spirit-writing. He purports to de- 
scribe a series of meetings held in the presence of fifty 
witnesses, whose names he gives, in which writing has 
come on paper, without the apparition of hands or any 
pen or pencil, from various historical people. 

He seems a devout believer in inspiration, and the 
book is curious for its mixture of all the phenomena, 
Pagan and Christian, going over Hindoo, Chinese, 
Greek, and Italian literature for examples, and then 
bringing similar ones from the Bible. 

One thing I am convinced of, — that spiritualism is a 
reaction from the intense materialism of the present age. 
Luther, when he recognized a personal devil, was much 
nearer right. We ought to enter fully, at least, into 
the spiritualism of the Bible. Circles and spiritual jug- 
glery I regard as the lying signs and wonders, with all 
deceivableness of unrighteousness ; but there is a real 
scriptural spiritualism which has fallen into disuse, and 
must be revived, and there are, doubtless, people who, 
from some constitutional formation, can more readily 
receive the impressions of the surrounding spiritual 
world. Such were apostles, prophets, and workers of 

Sunday evening. To-day I went down to sit with 
Mrs. E. in her quiet parlor. We read in Revelation 
together, and talked of the saints and spirits of the just 
made perfect, till it seemed, as it always does when with 


her, as if Henry were close by me. Then a curious 
thing happened. She has a little Florentine guitar 
which hangs in her parlor, quite out of reach. She and 
I were talking, and her sister, a very matter-of-fact, 
practical body, who attends to temporals for her, was 
arranging a little lunch for us, when suddenly the bass 
string of the guitar was struck loudly and distinctly. 

" Who struck that guitar ? " said the sister. We 
both looked up and saw that no body or thing was on 
that side of the room. After the sister had gone out, 
Mrs. E. said, " Now, that is strange ! I asked last night 
that if any spirit was present with us after you came 
to-day, that it would try to touch that guitar." A little 
while after her husband came in, and as we were talking 
we were all stopped by a peculiar sound, as if somebody 
had drawn a hand across all the strings at once. We 
marveled, and I remembered the guitar at home. 

What think you ? Have you had any more mani- 
festations, any truths from the spirit world ? 

About the end of February the pleasant Florentine 
circle broke up, and Mrs. Stowe and her party jour- 
neyed to Rome, where they remained until the middle 
of April. We next find them in Naples, starting on a 
six days' trip to Castellamare, Sorrento, Salerno, Paes- 
tum, and Amalfi ; then up Vesuvius, and to the Blue 
Grotto of Capri, and afterwards back to Rome by dili- 
gence. Leaving Rome on May 9th, they traveled leis- 
urely towards Paris, which they reached on the 27th. 
From there Mrs. Stowe wrote to her husband on May 
28th : — 


Since my last letter a great change has taken place 
in our plans, in consequence of which our passage for 
America is engaged by the Europa, which sails the 16th 
of June ; so, if all goes well, we are due in Boston four 
weeks from this date. I long for home, for my hus- 
band and children, for my room, my yard and garden, 
for the beautiful trees of Andover. We will make a 
very happy home, and our children will help us. 

Affectionately yours, Hatty. 

This extended and pleasant tour was ended with an 
equally pleasant homeward voyage, for on the Europa 
were found Nathaniel Hawthorne and James T. Fields,, 
who proved most delightful traveling companions. 

While Mrs. Stowe fully enjoyed her foreign experi- 
ences, she was so thoroughly American in every fibre 
of her being that she was always thankful to return to 
her own land and people. She could not, therefore, in 
any degree reciprocate the views of Mr. Ruskin on this 
subject, as expressed in the following letter, received- 
soon after her return to Andover : — 

Geneva, June 18, I860 1 . 

Dear Mrs. Stowe, — It takes a great deal, when I 
am at Geneva, to make me wish myself anywhere else, 
and, of all places else, in London ; nevertheless, I very 
heartily wish at this moment that I were looking out 
on the Norwood Hills, and were expecting you and the 
children to breakfast to-morrow. 

I had very serious thoughts, when I received your 
note, of running home ; but I expected that very day 
an American friend, Mr. S., who I thought would miss 
me more here than you would in London ; so I stayed. 


What a dreadful thing it is that people should have 
to go to America again, after coming to Europe ! It 
seems to me an inversion of the order of nature. I 
think America is a sort of " United " States of Proba- 
tion, out of which all wise people, being once delivered, 
and having obtained entrance into this better world, 
should never be expected to return (sentence irreme- 
diably ungrammatical), particularly when they have 
been making themselves cruelly pleasant to friends here. 
My friend Norton, whom I met first on this very blue 
lake water, had no business to go back to Boston again, 
any more than you. 

I was waiting for S. at the railroad station on Thurs- 
day, and thinking of you, naturally enough, — it seemed 
so short a while since we were there together. I man- 
aged to get hold of Georgie as she was crossing the 
rails, and packed her in opposite my mother and beside 
me, and was thinking myself so clever, when you sent 
that rascally courier for her ! I never forgave him 
any of his behavior after his imperativeness on that 

And so she is getting nice and strong? Ask her, 
please, when you write, with my love, whether, when 
she stands now behind the great stick, one can see much 
of her on each side? 

So you have been seeing the Pope and all his Easter 
performances ? I congratulate you, for I suppose it is 
something like " Positively the last appearance on any 
stage." What was the use of thinking about him ? You 
should have had your own thoughts about what was to 
come after him. I don't mean that Roman Catholicism 
will die out so quickly. It will last pretty nearly as 


long as Protestantism, which keeps it up ; but I wonder 
what is to come next. That is the main question just 
now for everybody. 

So you are coming round to Venice, after all ? We 
shall all have to come to it, depend upon it, some way 
or another. There never has been anything in any 
other part of the world like Venetian strength well 

I 've no heart to write about anything in Europe to 
you now. When are you coming back again ? Please 
send me a line as soon as you get safe over, to say you 
are all — wrong, but not lost in the Atlantic. 

I don't know if you will ever get this letter, but I 
hope you will think it worth while to glance again at 
the Denmark Hill pictures ; so I send this to my father, 
who, I hope, will be able to give it you. 

I really am very sorry you are going, — you and 
yours ; and that is absolute fact, and I shall not enjoy 
my Swiss journey at all so much as I might. It was a 
shame of you not to give me warning before. I could 
have stopped at Paris so easily for you ! All good be 
with you ! Remember me devotedly to the young 
ladies, and believe me ever affectionately yours, 


In Rome Mrs. Stowe had formed a warm friendship 
with the Brownings, with whom she afterwards main- 
tained a correspondence. The following letter from 
Mrs. Browning was written a year after their first 


Rome, 126 Via Felice, 14 March, 1861. 

My dear Mrs. Stowe, — Let me say one word 
first. Your letter, which would have given me pleas- 
ure if I had been in the midst of pleasures, came to me 
when little beside could have pleased. Dear friend, 
let me say it, I had had a great blow and loss in Eng- 
land, and you wrote things in that letter which seemed 
meant for me, meant to do me good, and which did me 
good, — the first good any letter or any talk did me ; 
and it struck me as strange, as more than a coinci- 
dence, that your first word since we parted in Rome 
last spring should come to me in Rome, and bear so 
directly on an experience which you did not know of. 
I thank you very much. 

The earnest stanzas I sent to England for one who 
wanted them even more than I. I don't know how 
people can keep up their prejudices against spiritualism 
with tears in their eyes, — how they are not, at least, 
thrown on the " wish that it micdit be true," and the 
investigation of the phenomena, by that abrupt shut- 
ting in their faces of the door of death, which shuts 
them out from the sight of their beloved. My ten- 
dency is to beat up against it like a crying child. Not 
that this emotional impulse is the best for turning the 
key and obtaining safe conclusions, — no. I did not 
write before because I always do shrink from touching 
my own griefs, one feels at first so sore that nothing 
but stillness is borne. It is only after, when one is 
better, that one can express one's self at all. This is so 
with me, at least, though perhaps it ought not to be so 
with a poet. 

If you saw my " De Profundis " you must under- 


stand that it was written nearly twenty years ago, and 
referred to what went before. Mr. Howard's affliction 
made me think of the MS. (in reference to a sermon of 
Dr. Beecher's in the " Independent "), and I pulled it 
out of a secret place and sent it to America, not think- 
ing that the publication would fall in so nearly with a 
new grief of mine as to lead to misconceptions. In 
fact the poem would have been an exaggeration in that 
case, and unsuitable in other respects. 

It refers to the greatest affliction of my life, — the 
only time when I felt despair, — written a year after or 
more. Forgive all these reticences. My husband calls 
me " peculiar " in some things, — peculiarly lache, per- 
haps. I can't articulate some names, or speak of cer- 
tain afflictions ; — no, not to him, — not after all these 
years ! It 's a sort of dumbness of the soul. Blessed 
are those who can speak, I say. But don't you see 
from this how I must want " spiritualism " above most 
persons ? 

Now let me be ashamed of this egotism, together 
with the rest of the weakness obtruded on you here, 
when I should rather have congratulated you, my dear 
friend, on the great crisis you are passing through in 
America. If the North is found noble enough to stand 
fast on the moral question, whatever the loss or diminu- 
tion of territory, God and just men will see you greater 
and more glorious as a nation. 

I had much anxiety for you after the Seward and 
Adams speeches, but the danger seems averted by that 
fine madness of the South which seems judicial. The 
tariff movement we should regret deeply (and do, some 
of us), only I am told it was wanted in order to per- 


suade those who were less accessible to moral argument. 
It 's eking out the holy water with ditch water. If the 
Devil flees before it, even so, let us be content. How 
you must feel, you who have done so much to set this 
accursed slavery in the glare of the world, convicting it 
of hideousness ! They should raise a statue to you in 
America and elsewhere. 

Meanwhile I am reading you in the " Independent," 
sent to me by Mr. Tilton, with the greatest interest. 
Your new novel opens beautifully. 1 

Do write to me and tell me of yourself and the sub- 
jects which interest us both. It seems to me that our 
Roman affairs may linger a little (while the Papacy 
bleeds slowly to death in its finances) on account of 
this violent clerical opposition in France. Otherwise 
we were prepared for the fall of the house any morn- 
ing. Prince Napoleon's speech represents, with what- 
ever slight discrepancy, the inner mind of the emperor. 
It occupied seventeen columns of the " Moniteur " and 
was magnificent. Victor Emmanuel wrote to thank him 
for it in the name of Italy, and even the English papers 
praised it as "a masterly exposition of the policy of 
France." It is settled that we shall wait for Venice. 
It will not be for long. Hungary is only waiting, and 
even in the ashes of Poland there are flickering sparks. 
Is it the beginning of the restitution of all things ? 

Here in Rome there are fewer English than usual, 
and more empty houses. There is a new story every 
morning, and nobody to cut off the head of the Schehe- 
razade. Yesterday the Pope was going to Venice 
directly, and, the day before, fixed the hour for Victor 

1 The Pearl of Orr's Island. 


Emmanuel's coming, and the day before that brought 
a letter from Cavour to Antonelli about sweeping the 
streets clean for the feet of the king. The poor Ro- 
mans live on these stories, while the Holy Father and 
king of Naples meet holding one another's hands, and 
cannot speak for sobs. The little queen, however, is a 
heroine in her way and from her point of view, and 
when she drives about in a common fiacre, looking very 
pretty under her only crown left of golden hair, one 
must feel sorry that she was not born and married 
nearer to holy ground. My husband prays you to 
remember him, and I ask your daughters to remember 
both of us. Our boy rides his pony and studies under 
his abbe, and keeps a pair of red cheeks, thank God. 

I ought to send you more about the society in Rome, 
but I have lived much alone this winter, and have little 
to tell you. Dr. Manning and Mr. DeVere stay away, 
not bearing, perhaps, to see the Pope in his agony. 
Your ever affectionate friend, 

Elizabeth B. Browning. 

Soon after her return to America Mrs. Stowe began 
a correspondence with Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, 
which opened the way for the warm friendship that has 
stood the test of years. Of this correspondence the 
two following letters, written about this time, are 
worthy of attention. 

Andover, September 9, 1860. 

Dear Dr. Holmes, — I have had an impulse upon 
me for a long time to write you a line of recognition 
and sympathy, in response to those that reached me 
monthly in your late story in the " Atlantic " (" Elsie 
Venner "). 


I know not what others may think of it, since I have 
seen nobody since my return ; but to me it is of deeper 
and broader interest than anything you have done yet, 
and I feel an intense curiosity concerning that under- 
world of thought from which like bubbles your inci- 
dents and remarks often seem to burst up. The foun- 
dations of moral responsibility, the interlacing laws of 
nature and spirit, and their relations to us here and 
hereafter, are topics which I ponder more and more, 
and on which only one medically educated can write 
well. I think a course of medical study ought to be 
required of all ministers. How I should like to talk 
with you upon the strange list of topics suggested in 
the schoolmaster's letter ! They are bound to agitate 
the public mind more and more, and it is of the chiefest 
importance to learn, if we can, to think soundly and 
wisely of them. Nobody can be a sound theologian 
who has not had his mind drawn to think with reveren- 
tial fear on these topics. 

Allow me to hint that the monthly numbers are not 
long enough. Get us along a little faster. You must 
work this well out. Elaborate and give us all the par- 
ticulars. Old Sophie is a jewel ; give us more of her. 
I have seen her. Could you ever come out and spend 
a day with us ? The professor and I would so like to 
have a talk on some of these matters with you ! 

Very truly yours, H. B. Stowe. 

Andover, February 18, 1861. 

Dear Doctor, — I was quite indignant to hear 
yesterday of the very unjust and stupid attack upon 
you in the . Mr. Stowe has written to them a 


remonstrance which I hope they will allow to appear 
as he wrote it, and over his name. He was well ac- 
quainted with your father and feels the impropriety of 
the thing. 

But, my dear friend, in being shocked, surprised, or 
displeased personally with such things, we must con- 
sider other people's natures. A man or woman may 
wound us to the quick without knowing it, or meaning 
to do so, simply through difference of fibre. As Cow- 
per hath somewhere happily said : — 

" Oh, why are farmers made so coarse, 
Or clergy made so fine ? 
A kick that scarce might move a horse 
Might kill a sound divine." 

When once people get ticketed, and it is known that 
one is a hammer, another a saw, and so on, if we happen 
to get a taste of their quality we cannot help being 
hurt, to be sure, but we shall not take it ill of them. 
There be pious, well-intending beetles, wedges, ham- 
mers, saws, and all other kinds of implements, good — 
except where they come in the way of our fingers — 
and from a beetle you can have only a beetle's gospel. 

I have suffered in my day from this sort of handling, 
which is worse for us women, who must never answer, 
and once when I wrote to Lady Byron, feeling just as 
you do about some very stupid and unkind things that 
had invaded my personality, she answered me, " Words 
do not kill, my dear, or I should have been dead long 

There is much true religion and kindness in the 
world, after all, and as a general thing he who has 
struck a nerve would be very sorry for it if he only 
knew what he had done. 


I would say nothing, if I were you. There is eternal 
virtue in silence. 

I must express my pleasure with the closing chapters 
of " Elsie." They are nobly and beautifully done, and 
quite come up to what I wanted to complete my idea of 
her character. I am quite satisfied with it now. It is 
an artistic creation, original and beautiful. 
Believe me to be your true friend, 

H. B. Stowe. 


THE CIVIL WAR, 1860-1865. 

The Outbreak of Civil War. — Mrs. Stowe's Son enlists. — 
Thanksgiving Day in Washington. — The Proclamation of 
Emancipation. — Rejoicings in Boston. — Fred Stowe at 
Gettysburg. — Leaving Andover and Settling in Hartford. 
— A Reply to the Women of England. — Letters from John 
Bright, Archbishop Whately, and Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

Immediately after Mrs. Stowe's return from Europe, 
it became only too evident that the nation was rapidly 
and inevitably drifting into all the horrors of civil war. 
To use her own words : " It was God's will that this 
nation — the North as well as the South — should 
deeply and terribly suffer for the sin of consenting to 
and encouraging the great oppressions of the South ; 
that the ill-gotten wealth, which had arisen from strik- 
ing hands with oppression and robbery, should be paid 
back in the taxes of war ; that the blood of the poor 
slave, that had cried so many years from the ground in 
vain, should be answered by the blood of the sons from 
the best hearthstones through all the free States ; that 
the slave mothers, whose tears nobody regarded, should 
have with them a great company of weepers, North and 
South, — Rachels weeping for their children and refus- 
ing to be comforted ; that the free States, who refused 
to listen when they were told of lingering starvation, 
cold, privation, and barbarous cruelty, as perpetrated on 


the slave, should have lingering starvation, cold, hunger, 
and cruelty doing its work among their own sons, at 
the hands of these slave-masters, with whose sins our 
nation had connived." 

Mrs. Stowe spoke from personal experience, having 
seen her own son go forth in the ranks of those who 
first responded to the President's call for volunteers. 
He was one of the first to place his name on the mus- 
ter-roll of Company A of the First Massachusetts Vol- 
unteers. While his regiment was still at the camp in 
Cambridge, Mrs. Stowe was called to Brooklyn on im- 
portant business, from which place she writes to her 
husband under the date June 11, 1861 : — 

" Yesterday noon Henry (Ward Beecher) came in, 
saying that the Commonwealth, with the First (Massa- 
chusetts) Regiment on board, had just sailed by. Im- 
mediately I was of course eager to get to Jersey City to 
see Fred. Sister Eunice said she would go with me, 
and in a few minutes she, Hatty, Sam Scoville, and I 
were in a carriage, driving towards the Fulton Ferry. 
Upon reaching Jersey City we found that the boys 
were dining in the depot, an immense building with 
many tracks and platforms. It has a great cast-iron 
gallery just under the roof, apparently placed there 
with prophetic instinct of these times. There was a 
crowd of people pressing against the grated doors, 
which were locked, but through which we could see the 
soldiers. It was with great difficulty that we were at 
last permitted to go inside, and that object seemed to 
be greatly aided by a bit of printed satin that some 
man gave Mr. Scoville. 

" When we were in, a vast area of gray caps and 


blue overcoats was presented. The boys were eating, 
drinking, smoking, talking, singing, and laughing. 
Company A was reported to be here, there, and every- 
where. At last S. spied Fred in the distance, and went 
leaping across the tracks towards him. Immediately 
afterwards a blue-overcoated figure bristling with knap- 
sack and haversack, and looking like an assortment of 
packages, came rushing towards us. 

" Fred was overjoyed, you may be sure, and my first 
impulse was to wipe his face with my handkerchief be- 
fore I kissed him. He was in high spirits, in spite of 
the weight of blue overcoat, knapsack, etc., etc., that 
he would formerly have declared intolerable for half an 
hour. I gave him my handkerchief and Eunice gave 
him hers, with a sheer motherly instinct that is so 
strong within her, and then we filled his haversack with 

" We stayed with Fred about two hours, during 
which time the gallery was filled with people, cheering 
and waving their handkerchiefs. Every now and then 
the band played inspiriting airs, in which the soldiers 
joined with hearty voices. While some of the companies 
sang, others were drilled, and all seemed to be having a 
general jollification. The meal that had been provided 
was plentiful, and consisted of coffee, lemonade, sand- 
wiches, etc. 

" On our way out we were introduced to the Rev. 
Mr. Cudworth, chaplain of the regiment. He is a fine- 
looking man, with black eyes and hair, set off by a 
white havelock. He wore a sword, and Fred, touching 
it, asked, ' Is this for use or ornament, sir ? * , 

" ' Let me see you in danger,' answered the chaplain, 
' and you '11 find out.' 


" I said to him I supposed he had had many an one 
confided to his kind offices, but I could not forbear add- 
ing one more to the number. He answered, ( You may 
rest assured, Mrs. Stowe, I will do all in my power.' 

" We parted from Fred at the door. He said he felt 
lonesome enough Saturday evening on the Common in 
Boston, where everybody was taking leave of somebody, 
and he seemed to be the only one without a friend, but 
that this interview made up for it all. 

" I also saw young Henry. Like Fred he is mysteri- 
ously changed, and wears an expression of gravity and 
care. So our boys come to manhood in a day. Now I 
am watching anxiously for the evening paper to tell me 
that the regiment has reached Washington in safety." 

In November, 1862, Mrs. Stowe was invited to visit 
Washington, to be present at a great thanksgiving din- 
ner provided for the thousands of fugitive slaves who 
had flocked to the city. She accepted the invitation 
the more gladly because her son's regiment was en- 
camped near the city, and she should once more see 
him. He was now Lieutenant Stowe, having honestly 
won his promotion by bravery on more than one hard- 
fought field. She writes of this visit : — 

Imagine a quiet little parlor with a bright coal fire, 
and the gaslight burning above a centre-table, about 
which Hatty, Fred, and I are seated. Fred is as happy 
as happy can be to be with mother and sister once 
more. All day yesterday we spent in getting him. 
First we had to procure a permit to go to camp, then 
we went to the fort where the colonel is, and then to 
another where the brigadier-general is stationed. I was 


so afraid they would not let him come with us, and was 
never happier than when at last he sprang into the car- 
riage free to go with us for forty-eight hours. " Oh ! " 
he exclaimed in a sort of rapture, " this pays for a year 
and a half of righting and hard work ! " 

We tried hard to get the five o'clock train out to 
Laurel, where J.'s regiment is stationed, as we wanted 
to spend Sunday all together ; but could not catch it, 
and so had to content ourselves with what we could 
have. I have managed to secure a room for Fred next 
ours, and feel as though I had my boy at home once 
more. He is looking very well, has grown in thick- 
ness, and is as loving and affectionate as a boy can be. 

I have just been writing a pathetic appeal to the 
brigadier-general to let him stay with us a week. I 
have also written to General Buckingham in regard to 
changing him from the infantry, in which there seems 
to be no prospect of anything but garrison duty, to the 
cavalry, which is full of constant activity. 

General B. called on us last evening. He seemed to 
think the prospect before us was, at best, of a long war. 
He was the officer deputed to carry the order to Gen- 
eral McClellan relieving him of command of the army. 
He carried it to him in his tent about twelve o'clock at 
night. Burnside was there. McClellan said it was 
very unexpected, but immediately turned over the com- 
mand. I said I thought he ought to have expected it 
after having so disregarded the President's order. Gen- 
eral B. smiled and said he supposed McClellan had 
done that so often before that he had no idea any 
notice would be taken of it this time. 

Now, as I am very tired, I must close, and remain as 
always, lovingly yours, Hatty. 


During the darkest and most bitter period of the 
Civil War, Mrs. Stowe penned the following letter to 
the Duchess of Argyll : — 

Andover, July 31, 1863. 

My dear Friend, — Your lovely, generous letter 
was a real comfort to me, and reminded me that a year 
— and, alas ! a whole year — had passed since I wrote 
to your dear mother, of whom I think so often as one 
of God's noblest creatures, and one whom it comforts 
me to think is still in our worlcL 

So many, good and noble, have passed away whose 
friendship was such a pride, such a comfort to me ! 
Your noble father, Lady Byron, Mrs. Browning, — 
their spirits are as perfect as ever passed to the world of 
light. I grieve about your dear mother's eyes. I have 
thought about you all, many a sad, long, quiet hour, as 
I have lain on my bed and looked at the pictures on 
my wall ; one, in particular, of the moment before the 
Crucifixion, which is the first thing I look at when I 
wake in the morning. I think how suffering is, and 
must be, the portion of noble spirits, and no lot so 
brilliant that must not first or last dip into the shadow 
of that eclipse. Prince Albert, too, the ideal knight, 
the Prince Arthur of our times, the good, wise, steady 
head and heart we — that is, our world, we Anglo-Sax- 
ons — need so much. And the Queen ! yes, I have 
thought of and prayed for her, too. But could a 
woman hope to have always such a heart, and yet ever 
be weaned from earth " all this and heaven, too " ? 

Under my picture I have inscribed, " Forasmuch as 
Christ also hath suffered for us in the flesh, arm your- 
selves with the same mind." 


This year has been one* long sigh, one smothering 
sob, to me. And I thank God that we have as yet one 
or two generous friends in England who understand 
and feel for our cause. 

The utter failure of Christian, anti-slavery England, 
in those instincts of a right heart which always can see 
where the cause of liberty lies, has been as bitter a 
grief to me as was the similar prostration of all our 
American religious people in the day of the Fugitive 
Slave Law. Exeter Hall is a humbug, a pious hum- 
bug, like the rest. Lord Shaftesbury. Well, let him 
go ; he is a Tory, and has, after all, the instincts of his 
class. But I saw your duke's speech to his tenants ! 
That was grand ! If he can see these things, they are 
to be seen, and why cannot Exeter Hall see them ? It 
is simply the want of the honest heart. 

Why do the horrible barbarities of Southern soldiers 
cause no comment ? Why is the sympathy of the Brit- 
ish Parliament reserved for the poor women of New 
Orleans, deprived of their elegant amusement of throw- 
ing vitriol into soldiers' faces, and practicing indecen- 
cies inconceivable in any other state of society ? Why 
is all expression of sympathy on the Southern side ? 
There is a class of women in New Orleans whom Butler 
protects from horrible barbarities, that up to his day 
have been practiced on them by these so-called New Or- 
leans ladies, but British sympathy has ceased to notice 
them. You see I am bitter. I am. You wonder at 
my brother. He is a man, and feels a thousand times 
more than I can, and deeper than all he ever has ex- 
pressed, the spirit of these things. You must not won- 
der, therefore. Remember it is the moment when every 


nerve is vital ; it is our agohy ; we tread the winepress 
alone, and they whose cheap rhetoric has been for years 
pushing us into it now desert en masse. I thank my 
God I always loved and trusted most those who now do 
stand true, — your family, your duke, yourself, your 
noble mother. I have lost Lady Byron. Her great 
heart, her eloquent letters, would have been such a joy 
to me ! And Mrs. Browning, oh such a heroic woman ! 
None of her poems can express what she was, — so 
grand, so comprehending, so strong, with such inspired 
insight ! She stood by Italy through its crisis. Her 
heart was with all good through the world. Your 
prophecy that we shall come out better, truer, stronger, 
will, I am confident, be true, and it was worthy of your- 
self and your good lineage. 

Slavery will be sent out by this agony. We are only 
in the throes and ravings of the exorcism. The roots 
of the cancer have gone everywhere, but they must die 
— will. Already the Confiscation Bill is its natural 
destruction. Lincoln has been too slow. He should 
have done it sooner, and with an impulse, but come it 
must, come it will. Your mother will live to see slav- 
ery abolished, unless England forms an alliance to hold 
it up. England is the great reliance of the slave-power 
to-day, and next to England the faltering weakness of 
the North, which palters and dare not fire the great 
broadside for fear of hitting friends. These things 
must be done, and sudden, sharp remedies are mercy. 
Just now we are in a dark hour ; but whether God be 
with us or not, I know He is with the slave, and with 
his redemption will come the solution of our question. 
I have long known what and who we had to deal with 


in this, for when I wrote " Uncle Tom's Cabin " I had 
letters addressed to me showing a state of society per- 
fectly inconceivable. That they violate graves, make 
drinking-cups of skulls, that ladies wear cameos cut 
from bones, and treasure scalps, is no surprise to me. 
If I had written what I knew of the obscenity, brutal- 
ity, and cruelty of that society down there, society 
would have cast out the books ; and it is for their inter- 
est, the interest of the whole race in the South, that we 
should succeed. I wish them no ill, feel no bitterness ; 
they have had a Dahomian education which makes them 
savage. We don't expect any more of them, but if 
slavery is destroyed, one generation of education and 
liberty will efface these stains. They will come to 
themselves, these States, and be glad it is over. 

I am using up my paper to little purpose. Please 
give my best love to your dear mother. I am going to 
write to her. If I only could have written the things 
I have often thought ! I am going to put on her brace- 
let, with the other dates, that of the abolition of slavery 
in the District of Columbia. Remember me to the 
duke and to your dear children. My husband desires 
his best regards, my daughters also. 

I am lovingly ever yours, 

H. B. Stowe. 

Later in the year we hear again from her son in the 
army, and this time the news comes in a chaplain's 
letter from the terrible field of Gettysburg. He 
writes : — 


Gettysburg, Pa., Saturday, July 11, 9.30 p. M. 

Mrs. H. B. Stowe : 

Dear Madam, — Among the thousands of wounded 
and dying men on this war-scarred field, I have just 
met with your son, Captain Stowe. If you have not 
already heard from him, it may cheer your heart to 
know that he is in the hands of good, kind friends. 
He was struck by a fragment of a shell, which entered 
his right ear. He is quiet and cheerful, longs to see 
some member of his family, and is, above all, anxious 
that they should hear from him as soon as possible. I 
assured him I would write at once, and though I am 
wearied by a week's labor here among scenes of terrible 
suffering, I know that, to a mother's anxious heart, even 
a hasty scrawl about her boy will be more than wel- 

May God bless and sustain you in this troubled time ! 
Yours with sincere sympathy, 

J. M. Crowell. 

The wound in the head was not fatal, and after weary 
months of intense suffering it imperfectly healed ; but 
the cruel iron had too nearly touched the brain of the 
young officer, and never again was he what he had 
been. Soon after the war his mother bought a planta- 
tion in Florida, largely in the hope that the out-of-door 
life connected with its management might be beneficial 
to her afflicted son. He remained on it for several 
years, and then, being possessed with the idea that a 
long sea voyage would do him more good than any- 
thing else, sailed from New York to San Francisco 
around the Horn. That he reached the latter city in 


safety is known ; but that is all. No word from him 
or concerning him has ever reached the loving hearts 
that have waited so anxiously for it, and of his ultimate 
fate nothing is known. 

Meantime, the year 1863 was proving eventful in 
many other ways to Mrs. Stowe. In the first place, the 
long and pleasant Andover connection of Professor 
Stowe was about to be severed, and the family were to 
remove to Hartford, Conn. They were- to occupy a 
house that Mrs. Stowe was building on the bank of 
Park River. It was erected in a grove of oaks that 
had in her girlhood been one of Mrs. Stowe's favorite 
resorts. Here, with her friend Georgiana May, she had 
passed many happy hours, and had often declared that 
if she were ever able to build a house, it should stand 
in that very place. Here, then, it was built in 1863, 
and as the location was at that time beyond the city 
limits, it formed, with its extensive, beautiful groves, a 
particularly charming place of residence. Beautiful as 
it was, however, it was occupied by the family for only 
a few years. The needs of the growing city caused fac- 
tories to spring up in the neighborhood, and to escape 
their encroachments the Stowes in 1873 bought and 
moved into the house on Forest Street that has ever 
since been their Northern home. Thus the only house 
Mrs. Stowe ever planned and built for herself has been 
appropriated to the use of factory hands, and is now a 
tenement occupied by several families. 

Another important event of 1863 was the publishing 
of that charming story of Italy, " Agnes of Sorrento," 
which had been begun nearly four years before. This 
story suggested itself to Mrs. Stowe while she was 


abroad during the winter of 1859-60. The origin of 
the story is as follows : One evening, at a hotel in 
Florence, it was proposed that the various members of 
the party should write short stories and read them for 
the amusement of the company. Mrs. Stowe took part 
in this literary contest, and the result was the first rough 
sketch of " Agnes of Sorrento." From this beginning 
was afterwards elaborated "Agnes of Sorrento," with 
a dedication to Annie Howard, who was one of the 

Not the least important event of the year to Mrs. 
Stowe, and the world at large through her instrumen- 
tality, was the publication in the " Atlantic Monthly " 
of her reply to the address of the women of England. 
The " reply " is substantially as follows : — 

January, 1863. 

To " The affectionate and Christian Address of many 
thousands of Women of Great Britain and Ireland 
to their Sisters, the Women of the United States of 
America," (signed by) 

Anna Maria Bedford (Duchess of Bedford). 

Olivia Cecilia Cowley (Countess Cowley). 

Constance Grosvenor (Countess Grosvenor). 

Harriet Sutherland (Duchess of Sutherland). 

Elizabeth Argyll (Duchess of Argyll). 

Elizabeth Fortescue (Countess Fortescue). 

Emily Shaftesbury (Countess of Shaftesbury). 

Mary Ruthven (Baroness Ruthven). 

M. A. Milman (wife of Dean of St. Paul). 

R. Buxton (daughter of Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton). 

Caroline Amelia Owen (wife of Professor Owen). 

Mrs. Charles Windham. 

C. A. Hatherton (Baroness Hatherton). 

Elizabeth Ducie (Countess Dowager of Ducie). 


Cecilia Parke (wife of Baron Parke). 

Mary Ann Challis (wife of the Lord Mayor of London). 

E. Gordon (Duchess Dowager of Gordon). 

Anna M. L. Melville (daughter of Earl of Leven and Melville). 

Georgiana Ebrington (Lady Ebrington). 

A. Hill (Viscountess Hill). 

Mrs. Gob at (wife of Bishop Gobat of Jerusalem). 

E. Palmerston (Viscountess Palmerston). . 

(And others). 

Sisters, — More than eight years ago you sent to 
us in America a document with the above heading. It 
is as follows : — 

" A common origin, a common faith, and, we sin- 
cerely believe, a common cause, urge us, at the present 
moment, to address you on the subject of that system 
of negro slavery which still prevails so extensively, and, 
even under kindly disposed masters, with such frightful 
results, in many of the vast regions of the Western 

" We will not dwell on the ordinary topics, — on the 
progress of civilization, on the advance of freedom 
everywhere, on the rights and requirements of the nine- 
teenth century ; but we appeal to you very seriously to 
reflect, and to ask counsel of God, how far such a state 
of things is in accordance with his Holy Word, the 
inalienable rights of immortal souls, and ,the pure and 
merciful spirit of the Christian religion. We do not 
shut our eyes to the difficulties, nay, the dangers, that 
might beset the immediate abolition of that long-estab- 
lished system. We see and admit the necessity of 
preparation for so great an event ; but, in speaking of 
indispensable preliminaries, we cannot be silent on those 
laws of your country which, in direct contravention of 
God's own law, ' instituted in the time of man's inno- 


cency/ deny in effect to the slave the sanctity of mar- 
riage, with all its joys, rights, and obligations ; which 
separate, at the will of the master, the wife from the 
husband, and the children from the parents. Nor can 
we be silent on that awful system which, either by 
statute or by custom, interdicts to any race of men, 
or any portion of the human family, education in the 
truths of the gospel and the ordinances of Christianity. 
A remedy applied to these two evils alone would 
commence the amelioration of their sad condition. We 
appeal to you then, as sisters, as wives, and as mothers, 
to raise your voices to your fellow-citizens, and your 
prayers to God, for the removal of this affliction and 
disgrace from the Christian world. 

" We do not say these things in a spirit of self-com- 
placency, as though our nation were free from the guilt 
it perceives in others. 

" We acknowledge with grief and shame our heavy 
share in this great sin. We acknowledge that our fore- 
fathers introduced, nay compelled the adoption, of slav- 
ery in those mighty colonies. We humbly confess it 
before Almighty God ; and it is because we so deeply 
feel and unfeignedly avow our own complicity, that we 
now venture to implore your aid to wipe away our com- 
mon crime and our common dishonor." 

This address, splendidly illuminated on vellum, was 
sent to our shores at the head of twenty-six folio vol- 
umes, containing considerably more than half a million 
of signatures of British women. It was forwarded to 
me with a letter from a British nobleman, now occupy- 
ing one of the highest official positions in England, with 


a request on behalf of these ladies that it should be in 
any possible way presented to the attention of my coun- 

This memorial, as it now stands in its solid oaken 
case, with its heavy folios, each bearing on its back the 
imprint of the American eagle, forms a most unique 
library, a singular monument of an international ex- 
pression of a moral idea. No right-thinking person can 
find aught to be objected against the substance or form 
of this memorial. It is temperate, just, and kindly ; 
and on the high ground of Christian equality, where it 
places itself, may be regarded as a perfectly proper ex- 
pression of sentiment, as between blood relations and 
equals in two different nations. The signatures to this 
appeal are not the least remarkable part of it ; for, be- 
ginning at the very steps of the throne, they go down 
to the names of women in the very humblest conditions 
in life, and represent all that Great Britain possesses, 
not only of highest and wisest, but of plain, homely 
common sense and good feeling. Names of wives of 
cabinet ministers appear on the same page with the 
names of wives of humble laborers, — names of duch- 
esses and countesses, of wives of generals, ambassadors, 
savants, and men of letters, mingled with names traced 
in trembling characters by hands evidently unused to 
hold the pen, and stiffened by lowly toil. Nay, so deep 
and expansive was the feeling, that British subjects in 
foreign lands had their representation. Among the 
signatures are those of foreign residents, from Paris to 
Jerusalem. Autographs so diverse, and collected from 
sources so various, have seldom been found in juxta- 
position. They remain at this day a silent witness of 


a most singular tide of feeling which at that time swept 
over the British community and made for itself an ex- 
pression, even at the risk of offending the sensibilities 
of an equal and powerful nation. 

No reply to that address, in any such tangible and 
monumental form, has ever been possible. It was im- 
possible to canvass our vast territories with the zealous 
and indefatigable industry with which England was 
canvassed for signatures. In America, those possessed 
of the spirit which led to this efficient action had no 
leisure for it. All their time and energies were already 
absorbed in direct efforts to remove the great evil, con- 
cerning which the minds of their English sisters had 
been newly aroused, and their only answer was the 
silent continuance of these efforts. 

From the slaveholding States, however, as was to be 
expected, came a flood of indignant recrimination and 
rebuke. No one act, perhaps, ever produced more 
frantic irritation, or called out more unsparing abuse. 
It came with the whole united weight of the British 
aristocracy and commonalty on the most diseased and 
sensitive part of our national life ; and it stimulated 
that fierce excitement which was working before, and 
has worked since, till it has broken out into open war. 

The time has come, however, when such an astonish- 
ing page has been turned, in the anti-slavery history of 
America, that the women of our country, feeling that 
the great anti-slavery work to which their English sis- 
ters exhorted them is almost done, may properly and 
naturally feel moved to reply to their appeal, and lay 
before them the history of what has occurred since the 
receipt of their affectionate and Christian address. 


Your address reached us just as a great moral con- 
flict was coming to its intensest point. The agitation 
kept up by the anti-slavery portion of America, by 
England, and by the general sentiment of humanity in 
Europe, had made the situation of the slaveholding 
aristocracy intolerable. As one of them at the time 
expressed it, they felt themselves under the ban of the 
civilized world. Two courses only were open to them : 
to abandon slave institutions, the sources of their wealth 
and political power, or to assert them with such an over- 
whelming national force as to compel the respect and 
assent of mankind. They chose the latter. 

To this end they determined to seize on and control 
all the resources of the Federal Government, and to 
spread their institutions through new States and Terri- 
tories until the balance of power should fall into their 
hands and they should be able to force slavery into all 
the free States. 

A leading Southern senator boasted that he would 
yet call the roll of his slaves on Bunker Hill ; and for 
a while the political successes of the slave-power were 
such as to suggest to New England that this was no 
impossible event. 

They repealed the Missouri Compromise, which had 
hitherto stood like the Chinese wall, between our North- 
western Territories and the irruptions of slaveholding 

Then came the struggle between freedom and slavery 
in the new territory ; the battle for Kansas and Ne- 
braska, fought with fire and sword and blood, where a 
race of men, of whom John Brown was the immortal 
type, acted over again the courage, the perseverance, 


and the military-religious ardor of the old Covenanters 
of Scotland, and like them redeemed the ark of lib- 
erty at the price of their own blood, and blood dearer 
than their own. 

The time of the Presidential canvass which elected 
Mr. Lincoln was the crisis of this great battle. The 
conflict had become narrowed down to the one point of 
the extension of slave territory. If the slaveholders 
could get States enough, they could control and rule ; 
if they were outnumbered by free States, their institu- 
tions, by the very law of their nature, would die of 
suffocation. Therefore Fugitive Slave Law, District 
of Columbia, Inter-State Slave-trade, and what not, 
were all thrown out of sight for a grand rally on this 
vital point. A President was elected pledged to oppo- 
sition to this one thing alone, — a man known to be in 
favor of the Fugitive Slave Law and other so-called 
compromises of the Constitution, but honest and faith- 
ful in his determination on this one subject. That this 
was indeed the vital point was shown by the result. 
The moment Lincoln's election was ascertained, the 
slaveholders resolved to destroy the Union they could 
no longer control. 

They met and organized a Confederacy which they 
openly declared to be the first republic founded on the 
right and determination of the white man to enslave 
the black man, and, spreading their banners, declared 
themselves to the Christian world of the nineteenth 
century as a nation organized with the full purpose and 
intent of perpetuating slavery. 

But in the course of the struggle that followed, it 
became important for the new confederation to secure 


the assistance of foreign powers, and infinite pains were 
then taken to blind and bewilder the mind of England 
as to the real issues of the conflict in America. 

It has been often and earnestly asserted that slavery 
had nothing to do with this conflict ; that it was a mere 
struggle for power ; that the only object was to restore 
the Union as it was, with all its abuses. It is to be 
admitted that expressions have proceeded from the 
national administration which naturally gave rise to 
misapprehension, and therefore we beg to speak to you 
on this subject more fully. 

And first the declaration of the Confederate States 
themselves is proof enough, that, whatever may be de- 
clared on the other side, the maintenance of slavery is 
regarded by them as the vital object of their movement. 

We ask your attention under this head to the decla- 
ration of their Vice-President, Stephens, in that remark- 
able speech delivered on the 21st of March, 1861, at 
Savannah, Georgia, wherein he declares the object and 
purposes of the new Confederacy. It is one of the 
most extraordinary papers which our century has pro- 
duced. I quote from the verbatim report in the " Sa- 
vannah Republican " of the address as it was deliv- 
ered in the Athenaeum of that city, on which occasion, 
says the newspaper from which I copy, " Mr. Stephens 
took his seat amid a burst of enthusiasm and applause 
such as the Athenaeum has never had displayed within 
its walls within the recollection ' of the oldest inhab- 
itant.' " 

Last, not least, the new Constitution has put at rest 
forever all the agitating questions relating to our pe- 
culiar institution, — African slavery as it exists among 


us, the proper status of the negro in our form of civil- 
ization. 7 7 his was the immediate cause of the late 
rupture and present revolution. Jefferson, in his 
forecast, had anticipated this as the " rock upon which 
the old Union would split." He was right. What was 
a conjecture with him is now a realized fact. But 
whether he fully comprehended the great truth upon 
which that rock stood and stands may be doubted. 

The prevailing ideas entertained by him and most 
of the leading statesmen at the time of the formation 
of the old Constitution were, that the enslavement of 
the African was in violation of the laws of nature ; 
that it was wrong in principle, socially, morally, 
and politically . 

In the mean while, during the past year, the Repub- 
lican administration, with all the unwonted care of 
organizing an army and navy, and conducting military 
operations on an immense scale, have proceeded to 
demonstrate the feasibility of overthrowing slavery by 
purely constitutional measures. To this end they have 
instituted a series of movements which have made this 
year more fruitful in anti-slavery triumphs than any 
other since the emancipation of the British West Indies. 
The District of Columbia, as belonging strictly to the 
national government and to no separate State, has 
furnished a fruitful subject of remonstrance from 
British Christians with America. We have abolished 
slavery there, and thus wiped out the only blot of terri- 
torial responsibility on our escutcheon. 

By another act, equally grand in principle, and far 
more important in its results, slavery is forever excluded 
from the Territories of the United States. 


By another act, America has consummated the long- 
delayed treaty with Great Britain for the suppression 
of the slave-trade. In ports whence slave vessels for- 
merly sailed with the connivance of the port officers, 
the administration has placed men who stand up to 
their duty, and for the first time in our history the 
slave-trader is convicted and hung as a pirate. This 
abominable secret traffic has been wholly demolished 
by the energy of the Federal Government. 

Lastly, and more significant still, the United States 
government has in its highest official capacity taken 
distinct anti-slavery ground, and presented to the coun- 
try a plan of peaceable emancipation with suitable com- 
pensation. This noble-spirited and generous offer has 
been urged on the slaveholding States by the chief 
executive with earnestness and sincerity. But this is 
but half the story of the anti-slavery triumphs of this 
year. We have shown you what has been done for 
freedom by the simple use of the ordinary constitu- 
tional forces of the Union. We are now to show you 
what has been done to the same end by the constitu- 
tional war-power of the nation. 

By this power it has been this year decreed that 
every slave of a rebel who reaches the lines of our army 
becomes a free man ; that all slaves found deserted by 
their masters become free men ; that every slave em- 
ployed in any service for the United States thereby 
obtains his liberty ; and that every slave employed 
against the United States in any capacity obtains his 
liberty ; and lest the army should contain officers dis- 
posed to remand slaves to their masters, the power of 
judging and delivering up slaves is denied to army 
officers, and all such acts are made penal. 


By this act the Fugitive Slave Law is for all present 
purposes practically repealed. With this understand- 
ing and provision, wherever our armies march they 
carry liberty with them. For be it remembered that 
our army is almost entirely a volunteer one, and that 
the most zealous and ardent volunteers are those who 
have been for years fighting, with tongue and pen, the 
abolition battle. So marked is the character of our 
soldiers in this respect, that they are now familiarly 
designated in the official military dispatches of the 
Confederate States as " the Abolitionists." Conceive 
the results when an army so empowered by national 
law marches through a slave territory. One regiment 
alone has to our certain knowledge liberated two thou- 
sand slaves during the past year, and this regiment is 
but one out of hundreds. 

Lastly, the great decisive measure of the war has 
appeared, — the President's Proclamation of Eman- 

This also has been much misunderstood and misrep- 
resented in England. It has been said to mean vir- 
tually this : Be loyal and you shall keep your slaves ; 
rebel and they shall be free. But let us remember 
what we have just seen of the purpose and meaning of 
the Union to which the rebellious States are invited 
back. It is to a Union which has abolished slavery in 
the District of Columbia, and interdicted slavery in the 
Territories ; which vigorously represses the slave-trade, 
and hangs the convicted slaver as a pirate ; which 
necessitates emancipation by denying expansion to 
slavery, and facilitates it by the offer of compensation. 
Any slaveholding States which should return to such a 


Union might fairly be supposed to return with the 
purpose of peaceable emancipation. The President's 
Proclamation simply means this : Come in and emanci- 
pate peaceably with compensation ; stay out and I 
emancipate, nor will I protect you from the conse- 

Will our sisters in England feel no heartbeat at that 
event ? Is it not one of the predicted voices of the 
latter day, saying under the whole heavens, " It is 
done ; the kingdoms of this world are become the king- 
doms of our Lord and of His Christ " ? 

And now, sisters of England, in this solemn, ex- 
pectant hour, let us speak to you of one thing which 
fills our hearts with pain and solicitude. It is an un- 
accountable fact, and one which we entreat you seri- 
ously to ponder, that the party which has brought the 
cause of freedom thus far on its way, during the past 
eventful year, has found little or no support in Eng- 
land. Sadder than this, the party which makes slavery 
the chief corner-stone of its edifice finds in England 
its strongest defenders. 

The voices that have spoken for us who contend for 
liberty have been few and scattering. God forbid that 
we should forget those few noble voices, so sadly ex- 
ceptional in the general outcry against us ! They are, 
alas ! too few to be easily forgotten. False statements 
have blinded the minds of your community, and turned 
the most generous sentiments of the British heart 
against us. The North are fighting for supremacy and 
the South for independence, has been the voice. In- 
dependence ? for what ? to do what ? To prove the 
doctrine that all men are not equal ; to establish the 
doctrine that the white may enslave the negro ! 


In the beginning of our struggle, the voices that 
reached us across the water said : "If we were only 
sure you were fighting for the abolition of slavery, we 
should not dare to say whither our sympathies for your 
cause might not carry us." Such, as we heard, were 
the words of the honored and religious nobleman who 
draughted this very letter which you signed and sent 
us, and to which we are now replying. 

When these words reached us we said : " We can 
wait ; our friends in England will soon see whither this 
conflict is tending." A year and a half have passed ; 
step after step has been taken for liberty ; chain after 
chain has fallen, till the march of our armies is choked 
and clogged by the glad flocking of emancipated slaves ; 
the day of final emancipation is set ; the border States 
begin to move in voluntary consent ; universal freedom 
for all dawns like the sun in the distant horizon, and 
still no voice from England. No voice ? Yes, we have 
heard on the high seas the voice of a war-steamer, built 
for a man-stealing Confederacy, with English gold, in 
an English dockyard, going out of an English har- 
bor, manned by English sailors, with the full knowl- 
edge of English government officers, in defiance of the 
Queen's proclamation of neutrality ! So far has English 
sympathy overflowed. We have heard of other steam- 
ers, iron-clad, designed to furnish to a slavery-defend- 
ing Confederacy their only lack, — a navy for the high 
seas. We have heard that the British Evangelical 
Alliance refuses to express sympathy with the liberating 
party, when requested to do so by the French Evangel- 
ical Alliance. We find in English religious newspapers 
all those sad degrees in the downward-sliding scale of 


defending and apologizing for slaveholders and slave- 
holding, with which we have so many years contended 
in our own country. We find the President's Proclama- 
tion of Emancipation spoken of in those papers only as 
an incitement to servile insurrection. Nay, more, — we 
find in your papers, from thoughtful men, the admis- 
sion of the rapid decline of anti-slavery sentiments in 

This very day the writer of this has been present at 
a solemn religious festival in the national capital, given 
at the home of a portion of those fugitive slaves who 
have fled to our lines for protection, — who, under the 
shadow of our flag, find sympathy and succor. The 
national day of thanksgiving was there kept by over a 
thousand redeemed slaves, and for whom Christian 
charity had spread an ample repast. Our sisters, we 
wish you could have witnessed the scene. We wish 
you could have heard the prayer of a blind old negro, 
called among his fellows John the Baptist, when in 
touching broken English he poured forth his thanks- 
givings. We wish you could have heard the sound of 
that strange rhythmical chant which is now forbidden 
to be sung on Southern plantations, — the psalm of this 
modern exodus, — which combines the barbaric fire of 
the Marseillaise with the religious fervor of the old 
Hebrew prophet : — 

" Oh, go down, Moses, 
Way down into Egypt's land ! 
Tell King Pharaoh 
To let my people go ! 
Stand away dere, 
Stand away dere, 
And let my people go ! " 


As we were leaving, an aged woman came and lifted up 
her hands in blessing. " Bressed be de Lord dat 
brought me to see dis first happy day of my life ! 
Bressed be de Lord ! " In all England is there no 

We have been shocked and saddened by the question 
asked in an association of Congregational ministers in 
England, the very blood relations of the liberty-loving 
Puritans, — " Why does not the North let the South 

What ! give up the point of emancipation for these 
four million slaves? Turn our backs on them, and 
leave them to their fate ? What ! leave our white 
brothers to run a career of oppression and robbery, 
that, as sure as there is a God that ruleth in the armies 
of heaven, will bring down a day of wrath and doom ? 
Remember that wishing success to this slavery-estab- 
lishing effort is only wishing to the sons and daughters 
of the South all the curses that God has written against 
oppression. Mark our words ! If we succeed, the 
children of these very men who are now fighting us will 
rise up to call us blessed. Just as surely as there is a 
God who governs in the world, so surely all the laws of 
national prosperity follow in the train of equity ; and if 
we succeed, we shall have delivered the children's chil- 
dren of our misguided brethren from the wages of sin, 
which is always and everywhere death. 

And now, sisters of England, think it not strange if 
we bring back the words of your letter, not in bitter- 
ness, but in deepest sadness, and lay them down at 
your door. We say to you, Sisters, you have spoken 
well ; we have heard you ; we have heeded ; we have 


striven in the cause, even unto death. We have sealed 
our devotion by desolate hearth and darkened home- 
stead, — by the blood of sons, husbands, and brothers. 
In many of our dwellings the very light of our lives 
has gone out ; and yet we accept the life-long darkness 
as our own part in this great and awful expiation, by 
which the bonds of wickedness shall be loosed, and 
abiding peace established on the foundation of right- 
eousness. Sisters, what have you done, and what do 
you mean to do ? 

We appeal to you as sisters, as wives, and as mothers, 
to raise your voices to your fellow-citizens, and your 
prayers to God for the removal of this affliction and 
disgrace from the Christian world. 

In behalf of many thousands of American women. 

Harriet Beecher Stowe. 
Washington, November 27, 1862. 

The publication of this reply elicited the following 
interesting letter from John Bright : — 

Rochdale, March 9, 1863. 

Dear Mrs. Stowe, — I received your kind note 
with real pleasure, and felt it very good of you to send 
me a copy of the " Atlantic Monthly " with yournoble 
letter to the women of England. I read every word of 
it with an intense interest, and I am quite sure that its 
effect upon opinion here has been marked and bene- 
ficial. It has covered some with shame, and it has 
compelled many to think, and it has stimulated not a 
few to act. Before this reaches you, you will have 
seen what large and earnest meetings have been held in 
all our towns in favor of abolition and the North. No 


town has a building large enough to contain those who 
come to listen, to applaud, and to vote in favor of free- 
dom and the Union. The effect of this is evident on 
our newspapers and on the tone of Parliament, where 
now nobody says a word in favor of recognition, or 
mediation, or any such thing. 

The need and duty of England is admitted to be a 
strict neutrality, but the feeling of the millions of her 
people is one of friendliness to the United States and 
its government. It would cause universal rejoicing, 
among all but a limited circle of aristocracy and com- 
mercially rich and corrupt, to hear that the Northern 
forces had taken Vicksburg on the great river, and 
Charleston on the Atlantic, and that the neck of the 
conspiracy was utterly broken. 

I hope your people may have strength and virtue to 
win the great cause intrusted to them, but it is fearful 
to contemplate the amount of the depravity in the 
North engendered by the long power of slavery. New 
England is far ahead of the States as a whole, — too 
instructed and too moral ; but still I will hope that 
she will bear the nation through this appalling danger. 

I well remember the evening at Rome and our con- 
versation. You lamented the election of Buchanan. 
You judged him with a more unfriendly but a more 
correct eye than mine. He turned out more incapable 
and less honest than I hoped for. And I think I was 
right in saying that your party was not then sufficiently 
consolidated to enable it to maintain its policy in the 
execution, even had Fremont been elected. As it is 
now, six years later, the North but falteringly supports 
the policy of the government, though impelled by the 


force of events which then you did not dream of. 
President Lincoln has lived half his troubled reign. In 
the coming half I hope he may see land ; surely slavery 
will be so broken up that nothing can restore and 
renew it; and, slavery once fairly gone, I know not 
how all your States can long be kept asunder. 
Believe me very sincerely yours, 

John Bright. 

It also called forth from Archbishop Whately the 
following letter : — 

Palace, Dublin, January, 1863. 

Dear Madam, — In acknowledging your letter and 
pamphlet, I take the opportunity of laying before you 
what I collect to be the prevailing sentiments here on 
American affairs. Of course there is a great variety 
of opinion, as may be expected in a country like ours. 
Some few sympathize with the Northerns, and some few 
with the Southerns, but far the greater portion sympa- 
thize with neither completely, but lament that each 
party should be making so much greater an expenditure 
of life and property than can be compensated for by 
any advantage they can dream of obtaining. 

Those who are the least favorable to the Northerns 
are not so from any approbation of slavery, but from 
not understanding that the war is waged in the cause 
of abolition. " It was waged," they say, " ostensibly 
for the restoration of the Union," and in attestation of 
this, they refer to the proclamation which announced 
the confiscation of slaves that were the property of 
secessionists, while those who adhered to the Federal 
cause should be exempt from such confiscation, which, 


they say, did not savor much of zeal for abolition. 
And if the other object — the restoration of the Union 
— could be accomplished, which they all regard as 
hopeless, they do not understand how it will tend to 
the abolition of slavery. On the contrary, "if," say 
they, " the separation had been allowed to take place 
peaceably, the Northerns might, as we do, have pro- 
claimed freedom to every slave who set foot on their ter- 
ritory ; which would have been a great check to slavery, 
and especially to any cruel treatment of slaves." Many 
who have a great dislike to slavery yet hold that the 
Southerns had at least as much right to secede as the 
Americans had originally to revolt from Great Britain. 
And there are many who think that, considering the 
dreadful distress we have suffered from the cotton fam- 
ine, we have shown great forbearance in withstanding 
the temptation of recognizing the Southern States and 
to break the blockade. 

Then, again, there are some who are provoked at the 
incessant railing at England, and threats of an invasion 
of Canada, which are poured forth in some of the 
American papers. 

There are many, also, who consider that the present 
state of things cannot continue much longer if the Con- 
federates continue to hold their own, as they have done 
hitherto ; and that a people who shall have maintained 
their independence for two or three years will be rec- 
ognized by the principal European powers. Such 
appears to have been the procedure of the European 
powers in all similar cases, such as the revolt of the 
Anglo-American and Spanish- American colonies, of the 
Haytians and the Belgians. In these and other like 
cases, the rule practically adopted seems to have been 


to recognize the revolters, not at once, but after a rea- 
sonable time had been allowed to see whether they 
could maintain their independence ; and this without 
being understood to have pronounced any decision 
either way as to the justice of the cause. 

Moreover, there are many who say that the negroes 
and people of color are far from being kindly or justly 
treated in the Northern States. An emancipated slave, 
at any rate, has not received good training for earning 
his bread by the wages of labor ; and if, in addition to 
this and his being treated as an outcast, he is excluded, 
as it is said, from many employments, by the refusal of 
white laborers to work along with him, he will have 
gained little by taking refuge in the Northern States. 

I have now laid before you the views which I con- 
ceive to be most prevalent among us, and for which I 
am not myself responsible. 

For the safe and effectual emancipation of slaves, I 
myself consider there is no plan so good as the gradual 
one which was long ago suggested by Bishop Hinds. 
What he recommended was an ad valorem tax upon 
slaves, — the value to be fixed by the owner, with an 
option to government to purchase at that price. Thus 
the slaves would be a burden to the master, and those 
the most so who should be the most valuable, as being 
the most intelligent and steady, and therefore the best 
qualified for freedom ; and it would be his interest to 
train his slaves to be free laborers, and to emancipate 
them, one by one, as speedily as he could with safety. 
I fear, however, that the time is gone by for trying this 
experiment in America. 

With best wishes for the new year, believe me 

Yours faithfully, Rd. Whately. 


Among the many letters written from this side of the 
Atlantic regarding the reply, was one from Nathaniel 
Hawthorne, in which he says : — 

I read with great pleasure your article in the last 
" Atlantic." If anything could make John Bull blush, 
I should think it might be that ; but he is a hardened 
and villainous hypocrite. I always felt that he cared 
nothing for or against slavery, except as it gave him a 
vantage-ground on which to parade his own virtue and 
sneer at our iniquity. 

With best regards from Mrs. Hawthorne and myself 
to yourself and family, sincerely yours, 

Nath'l Hawthorne. 


FLORIDA, 1865-1869. 

Letter to Duchess of Argyll. — Mrs. Stowe desires to have a 
Home at the South. — Florida the Best Field for Doing 
Good. — She Buys a Place at Mandarin. — A Charming Win- 
ter Residence. — " Palmetto Leaves." — Easter Sunday at 
Mandarin. — Correspondence with Dr. Holmes. — " Poganuc 
People." — Receptions in New Orleans and Tallahassee. — 
Last Winter at Mandarin. 

In 1866, the terrible conflict between the North and 
South having ended, Mrs. Stowe wrote the following 
letter to the Duchess of Argyll : — 

Hartford, February 19, 1866. 

My dear Friend, — Your letter was a real spring 
of comfort to me, bringing refreshingly the pleasant 
library at Inverary and the lovely days I spent there. 

I am grieved at what you say of your dear mother's 
health. I showed your letter to Mrs. Perkins, and we 
both agreed in saying that we should like for a time to 
fill the place of maid to her, as doubtless you all feel, 
too. I should so love to be with her, to read to her, 
and talk to her ! and oh, there is so much that would 
cheer and comfort a noble heart like hers that we could 
talk about. Oh, my friend, when I think of what has 
been done these last few years, and of what is now 
doing, I am lost in amazement. I have just, by way 
of realizing it to myself, been reading " Uncle Tom's 


Cabin " again, and when I read that book, scarred and 
seared and burned into with the memories of an an- 
guish and horror that can never be forgotten, and think 
it is all over now, all past, and that now the questions 
debated are simply of more or less time before granting 
legal suffrage to those who so lately were held only as 
articles of merchandise, — when this comes over me I 
think no private or individual sorrow can ever make me 
wholly without comfort. If my faith in God's presence 
and real, living power in the affairs of men ever grows 
dim, this makes it impossible to doubt. 

I have just had a sweet and lovely Christian letter 
from Garrison, whose beautiful composure and thank- 
fulness in his hour of victory are as remarkable as his 
wonderful courage in the day of moral battle. His 
note ends with the words, " And who but God is to be 
glorified?" Garrison's attitude is far more exalted 
than that of Wendell Phillips. He acknowledges the 
great deed done. He suspends his " Liberator " with 
words of devout thanksgiving, and devotes himself 
unobtrusively to the work yet to be accomplished for 
the f reedmen ; while Phillips seems resolved to ignore 
the mighty work that has been done, because of the 
inevitable shortcomings and imperfections that beset it 
still. We have a Congress of splendid men, — men of 
stalwart principle and determination. We have a Pres- 
ident 1 honestly seeking to do right ; and if he fails in 
knowing just what right is, it is because he is a man 
born and reared in a slave State, and acted on by many 
influences which we cannot rightly estimate unless we 
were in his place. My brother Henry has talked with 

1 Andrew Johnson. 


him earnestly and confidentially, and has faith in him 
as an earnest, good man seeking to do right. Henry 
takes the ground that it is unwise and impolitic to 
endeavor to force negro suffrage on the South at the 
point of the bayonet. His policy would be, to hold 
over the negro the protection of our Freedman's Bureau 
until the great laws of free labor shall begin to draw 
the master and servant together ; to endeavor to soothe 
and conciliate, and win to act with us, a party com- 
posed of the really good men at the South. 

For this reason he has always advocated lenity of 
measures towards them. He wants to get them into a 
state in which the moral influence of the North can act 
upon them beneficially, and to get such a state of 
things that there will be a party at the South to pro- 
tect the negro. 

Charles Sumner is looking simply at the abstract 
right of the thing. Henry looks at actual probabilities. 
We all know that the state of society at the South is 
such that laws are a very inadequate protection even to 
white men. Southern elections always have been scenes 
of mob violence when only white men voted. 

Multitudes of lives have been lost at the polls in this 
way, and if against their will negro suffrage was forced 
upon them, I do not see how any one in their senses can 
expect anything less than an immediate war of races. 

If negro suffrage were required as a condition of 
acquiring political position, there is no doubt the slave 
States would grant it ; grant it nominally, because they 
would know that the grant never could or would be- 
come an actual realization. And what would then be 
gained for the negro ? 


I am sorry that people cannot differ on such great 
and perplexing public questions without impugning 
each other's motives. Henry has been called a back- 
slider because of the lenity of his counsels, but I can- 
not but think it is the Spirit of Christ that influences 
him. Garrison has been in the same way spoken of as 
a deserter, because he says that a work that is done 
shall be called done, and because he would not keep up 
an anti-slavery society when slavery is abolished ; and I 
think our President is much injured by the abuse that 
is heaped on him, and the selfish and unworthy motives 
that are ascribed to him by those who seem determined 
to allow to nobody an honest, unselfish difference in 
judgment from their own. 

Henry has often spoken of you and your duke as 
pleasant memories in a scene of almost superhuman 
labor and excitement. He often said to me : " When 
this is all over, — when we have won the victory, — then 
I will write to the duchess." But when it was over 
and the flag raised again at Sumter his arm was smit- 
ten down with the news of our President's death ! We 
all appreciate your noble and true sympathy through 
the dark hour of our national trial. You and yours 
are almost the only friends we now have left in Eng- 
land. You cannot know what it was, unless you could 
imagine your own country to be in danger of death, 
extinction of nationality. That, dear friend, is an ex- 
perience which shows us what we are and what we can 
feel. I am glad to hear that we may hope to see your 
son in this country. I fear so many pleasant calls will 
beset his path that we cannot hope for a moment, but 
it would give us all the greatest pleasure to see him 


here. Our dull, prosy, commonplace, though good old 
Hartford could offer few attractions compared with 
Boston or New York, and yet I hope he will not leave 
us out altogether if he comes among us. God bless 
him ! You are very happy indeed in being permitted 
to keep all your dear ones and see them growing up. 

I want to ask a favor. Do you have, as we do, 
cartes de visite f If you have, and could send me one 
of yourself and the duke and of Lady Edith and your 
eldest son, I should be so very glad to see how you are 
looking now ; and the dear mother, too, I should so like 
to see how she looks. It seems almost like a dream to 
look back to those pleasant days. I am glad to see 
you still keep some memories of our goings on. Geor- 
gie's marriage is a very happy one to us. They live in 
Stockbridge, the loveliest part of Massachusetts, and 
her husband is a most devoted pastor, and gives all his 
time and property to the great work which he has em- 
braced, purely for the love of it. My other daughters 
are with me, and my son, Captain Stowe, who has come 
with weakened health through our struggle, suffering 
constantly from the effects of a wound in his head 
received at Gettysburg, which makes his returning to 
his studies a hard struggle. My husband is in better 
health since he resigned his professorship, and desires 
his most sincere regards to yourself and the duke, and 
his profound veneration to your mother. Sister Mary 
also desires to be remembered to you, as do also my 
daughters. Please tell me a little in your next of Lady 
Edith ; she must be very lovely now. 

I am, with sincerest affection, ever yours, 

H. B. Stowe. 


Soon after the close of the war Mrs. Stowe conceived 
the idea of making for herself and her family a winter 
home in the South, where she might escape the rigors 
of Northern winters, and where her afflicted son Fred- 
erick might enjoy an out-of-door life throughout the 
year. She was also most anxious to do her share to- 
wards educating and leading to a higher life those col- 
ored people whom she had helped so largely to set free, 
and who were still in the state of profound ignorance 
imposed by slavery. In writing of her hopes and plans 
to her brother Charles Beecher, in 1866, she says : — 

" My plan of going to Florida, as it lies in my mind, 
is not in any sense a mere worldly enterprise. I have 
for many years had a longing to be more immediately 
doing Christ's work on earth. My heart is with that 
poor people whose cause in words I have tried to plead, 
and who now, ignorant and docile, are just in that for- 
mative stage in which whoever seizes has them. 

" Corrupt politicians are already beginning to specu- 
late on them as possible capital for their schemes, and 
to fill their poor heads with all sorts of vagaries. Flor- 
ida is the State into which they have, more than any- 
where else, been pouring. Emigration is positively 
and decidedly setting that way ; but as yet it is mere 
worldly emigration, with the hope of making money, 
nothing more. 

The Episcopal Church is, however, undertaking, 
under direction of the future Bishop of Florida, a wide- 
embracing scheme of Christian activity for the whole 
State. In this work I desire to be associated, and my 
plan is to locate at some salient point on the St. John's 
River, where I can form the nucleus of a Christian 


neighborhood, whose influence shall be felt far beyond 
its own limits. 

During this year Mrs. Stowe partially carried her 
plan into execution by hiring an old plantation called 
"Laurel Grove/' on the west side of the St. John's 
River, near the present village of Orange Park. Here 
she established her son Frederick as a cotton planter, 
and here he remained for two years. This location did 
not, however, prove entirely satisfactory, nor did the 
raising of cotton prove to be, under the circumstances, 
a profitable business. After visiting Florida during 
the winter of 1866-67, at which time her attention was 
drawn to the beauties and superior advantages of 
Mandarin on the east side of the river, Mrs. Stowe 
writes from Hartford, May 29, 1867, to Rev. Charles 
Beecher : — 

My dear Brother, — We are now thinking seri- 
ously of a place in Mandarin much more beautiful than 
any other in the vicinity. It has on it five large date 
palms, an olive tree in full bearing, besides a fine 
orange grove which this year will yield about seventy- 
five thousand oranges. If we get that, then I want 
you to consider the expediency of buying the one next 
to it. It contains about two hundred acres of land, on 
which is a fine orange grove, the fruit from which last 
year brought in two thousand dollars as sold at the 
wharf. It is right on the river, and four steamboats 
pass it each week, on their way to Savannah and 
Charleston. There is on the place a very comfortable 
cottage, as houses go out there, where they do not need 
to be built as substantially as with us. 


I am now in correspondence with the Bishop of 
Florida, with a view to establishing a line of churches 
along the St. John's River, and if I settle at Mandarin, 
it will be one of my stations. Will you consent to enter 
the Episcopal Church and be our clergyman ? You are 
just the man we want. If my tasks and feelings did 
not incline me toward the Church, I should still choose 
it as the best system for training immature minds such 
as those of our negroes. The system was composed 
with reference to the wants of the laboring class of 
England, at a time when they were as ignorant as our 
negroes now are. 

I long to be at this work, and cannot think of it 
without my heart burning within me. Still I leave all 
with my God, and only hope He will open the way for 
me to do all that I want to for this poor people. 

Affectionately yours, H. B. Stowe. 

Mrs. Stowe had some years before this joined the 
Episcopal Church, for the sake of attending the same 
communion as her daughters, who were Episcopalians. 
Her brother Charles did not, however, see fit to change 
his creed, and though he went to Florida he settled a 
hundred and sixty miles west from the St. John's River, 
at Newport, near St. Marks, on the Gulf coast, and 
about twenty miles from Tallahassee. Here he lived 
every winter and several summers for fifteen years, and 
here he left the impress of his own remarkably sweet 
and lovely character upon the scattered population of 
the entire region. 

Mrs. Stowe in the mean time purchased the property, 
with its orange grove and comfortable cottage, that she 


had recommended to him, and thus Mandarin became 
her winter home. No one who has ever seen it can 
forget the peaceful beauty of this Florida home and its 
surroundings. The house, a story and a half cottage 
of many gables, stands on a bluff overlooking the 
broad St. John's, which is five miles wide at this point. 
It nestles in the shade of a grove of superb, moss- 
hung live-oaks, around one of which the front piazza 
is built. Several fine old orange trees also stand near 
the cottage, scenting the air with the sweet perfume of 
their blossoms in the early spring, and offering their 
golden fruit to whoever may choose to pluck it during 
the winter months. Back of the house stretches the 
well-tended orange grove in which Mrs. Stowe took 
such genuine pride and pleasure. Everywhere about 
the dwelling and within it were flowers and singing 
birds, while the rose garden in front, at the foot of the 
bluff, was the admiration of all who saw it. 

Here, on the front piazza, beneath the grand oaks, 
looking out on the calm sunlit river, Professor Stowe 
enjoyed that absolute peace and restful quiet for which 
his scholarly nature had always longed, but which had 
been forbidden to the greater part of his active life. 
At almost any hour of the day the well-known figure, 
with snow-white, patriarchal beard and kindly face, 
might be seen sitting there, with a basket of books, 
many of them in dead and nearly forgotten languages, 
close at hand. An amusing incident of family life was 
as follows : Some Northern visitors seemed to think 
that the family had no rights which were worthy of a 
a moment's consideration. * They would land at the 
wharf, roam about the place, pick flowers, peer into the 


house through the windows and doors, and act with 
that disregard of all the proprieties of life which char- 
acterizes ill-bred people when on a journey. The pro- 
fessor had been driven well-nigh distracted by these 
migratory bipeds. One day, when one of them broke 
a branch from an orange tree directly before his eyes, 
and was bearing it off in triumph with all its load of 
golden fruit, he leaped from his chair, and addressed 
the astonished individual on those fundamental princi- 
ples of common honesty, which he deemed outraged by 
this act. The address was vigorous and truthful, but 
of a kind which will not bear repeating. " Why," 
said the horror-stricken culprit, " I thought that this 
was Mrs. Stowe's place ! " " You thought it was Mrs. 
Stowe's place ! " Then, in a voice of thunder, " I 
would have you understand, sir, that I am the propri- 
etor and protector of Mrs. Stowe and of this place, and 
if you commit any more such shameful depredations I 
will have you punished as you deserve ! " Thus this 
predatory Yankee was taught to realize that there is a 
God in Israel. 

In April, 1869, Mrs. Stowe was obliged to hurry 
North in order to visit Canada in time to protect her 
English rights in " Oldtown Folks," which she had just 

About this time she secured a plot of land, and made 
arrangements for the erection on it of a building that 
should be used as a schoolhouse through the week, and 
as a church on Sunday. For several years Professor 
Stowe preached during the winter in this little school- 
house, and Mrs. Stowe conducted Sunday-school, sew- 
ing classes, singing classes, and various other gather- 


ings for instruction and amusement, all of which were 
well attended and highly appreciated by both the white 
and colored residents of the neighborhood. 

Upon one occasion, having just arrived at her Man- 
darin home, Mrs. Stowe writes : — 

" At last, after waiting a day and a half in Charles- 
ton, we arrived here about ten o'clock Saturday morn- 
ing, just a week from the day we sailed. The house 
looked so pretty, and quiet, and restful, the day was so 
calm and lovely, it seemed as though I had passed away 
from all trouble, and was looking back upon you all 
from a secure resting-place. Mr. Stowe is very happy 
here, and is constantly saying how pleasant it is, and 
how glad he is that he is here. He is so much im- 
proved in health that already he is able to take a con- 
siderable walk every day. 

" We are all well, contented, and happy, and we 
have six birds, two dogs, and a pony. Do write more 
and oftener. Tell me all the little nothings and no- 
wheres. You can't imagine how they are magnified by 
the time they have reached into this remote corner." 

In 1872 she wrote a series of Florida sketches, which 
were published in book form, the following year, by 
J. R. Osgood & Co., under the title of " Palmetto 
Leaves." May 19, 1873, she writes to her brother 
Charles at Newport, Fla. : — 

" Although you have not answered my last letter, I 
cannot leave Florida without saying good-by. I send 
you the ' Palmetto Leaves ' and my parting love. If 
I could either have brought or left my husband, I 
should have come to see you this winter. The account 
of your roses fills me with envy. 


" We leave on the San Jacinto next Saturday, and I 
am making the most of the few charming hours yet 
left ; for never did we have so delicious a spring. I 
never knew such altogether perfect weather. It is 
enough to make a saint out of the toughest old Cal- 
vinist that ever set his face as a flint. How do you 
think New England theology would have fared if our 
fathers had been landed here instead of on Plymouth 

" The next you hear of me will be at the North, 
where our address is Forest Street, Hartford. We have 
bought a pretty cottage there, near to Belle, and shall 
spend the summer there." 

In a letter written in May of the following year to 
her son Charles, at Harvard, Mrs. Stowe says : " I can 
hardly realize that this long, flowery summer, with its 
procession of blooms and fruit, has been running on at 
the same time with the snowbanks and sleet storms of 
the North. But so it is. It is now the first of May. 
Strawberries and blackberries are over with us ; oranges 
are in a waning condition, few and far between. Now 
we are going North to begin another summer, and have 
roses, strawberries, blackberries, and green peas come 

"I am glad to hear of your reading. The effect 
produced on you by Jonathan Edwards is very similar 
to that produced on me when I took the same mental 
bath. His was a mind whose grasp and intensity you 
cannot help feeling. He was a poet in the intensity of 
his conceptions, and some of his sermons are more 
terrible than Dante's * Inferno.' " 

In November, 1874, upon their return to Mandarin, 


she writes : " We have had heavenly weather, and we 
needed it ; for our house was a cave of spider-webs, 
cockroaches, dirt, and all abominations, but less than a 
week has brought it into beautiful order. It now be- 
gins to put on that quaint, lively, pretty air that so 
fascinates me. Our weather is, as I said, heavenly, 
neither hot nor cold ; cool, calm, bright, serene, and so 
tranquillizing. There is something indescribable about 
the best weather we have down here. It does not de- 
bilitate me like the soft October air in Hartford." 

During the following February, she writes in reply 
to an invitation to visit a Northern watering place later 
in the season : " I shall be most happy to come, and 
know of nothing to prevent. I have, thank goodness, 
no serial story on hand for this summer, to hang like 
an Old Man of the Sea about my neck, and hope to 
enjoy a little season of being like other folks. It is a 
most lovely day to-day, most unf alien Eden-like." 

In a letter written later in the same season, March 
28, 1875, Mrs. Stowe gives us a pleasant glimpse at 
their preparations for the proper observance of Easter 
Sunday in the little Mandarin schoolhouse. She says : 
" It was the week before Easter, and we had on our 
minds the dressing of the church. There my two 
Gothic fireboards were to be turned into a pulpit for 
the occasion. I went to Jacksonville and got a five- 
inch moulding for a base, and then had one fireboard 
sawed in two, so that there was an arched panel for 
each end. Then came a rummage for something for 
a top, and to make a desk of, until it suddenly occurred 
to me that our old black walnut extension table had a 
set of leaves. They were exactly the thing. The whole 


was trimmed with a beading of yellow pine, and rubbed, 
and pumice-stoned, and oiled, and I got out my tubes 
of paint and painted the nail-holes with Vandyke brown. 
By Saturday morning it was a lovely little Gothic pul- 
pit, and Anthony carried it over to the schoolhouse and 
took away the old desk which I gave him for his meet- 
ing-house. That afternoon we drove out into the woods 
and gathered a quantity of superb Easter lilies, pa- 
paw, sparkleberry, great fern -leaves, and cedar. In 
the evening the girls went over to the Meads to prac- 
tice Easter hymns; but I sat at home and made a 
cross, eighteen inches long, of cedar and white lilies. 
This Southern cedar is the most exquisite thing ; it is 
so feathery and delicate. 

" Sunday morning was cool and bright, a most per- 
fect Easter. Our little church was full, and everybody 
seemed delighted with the decorations. Mr. Stowe 
preached a sermon to show that Christ is going to put 
everything right at last, which is comforting. So the 
day was one of real pleasure, and also I trust of real 
benefit, to the poor souls who learned from it that 
Christ is indeed risen for them." 

During this winter the following characteristic letters 
passed between Mrs. Stowe and her valued friend, Dr. 
Oliver Wendell Holmes, called forth by the sending to 
the latter of a volume of Mrs. Stowe's latest stories : — 

Boston, January 8, 1876. 

My dear Mrs. Stowe, — I would not write to 
thank you for your most welcome " Christmas Box," 

" A box whose sweets compacted lie," 

before I had read it, and every word of it. I have 


been very much taken up with antics of one kind and 
another, and have only finished it this afternoon. The 
last of the papers was of less comparative value to me 
than to a great fraction of your immense parish of 
readers, because I am so familiar with every movement 
of the Pilgrims in their own chronicles. 

" Deacon Pitkin's Farm " is full of those thoroughly 
truthful touches of New England in which, if you are 
not unrivaled, I do not know who your rival may be. 
I wiped the tears from one eye in reading " Deacon 
Pitkin's Farm." 

I wiped the tears, and plenty of them, from both 
eyes, in reading " Betty's Bright Idea." It is a most 
charming and touching story, and nobody can read who 
has not a heart like a pebble, without being melted into 

How much you have done and are doing to make 
our New England life wholesome and happy ! If there 
is any one who can look back over a literary life which 
has pictured our old and helped our new civilization, 
it is yourself. Of course your later books have harder 
work cut out for them than those of any other writer. 
They have had " Uncle Tom's Cabin " for a rival. The 
brightest torch casts a shadow in the blaze of a light, 
and any transcendent success affords the easiest handle 
for that class of critics whose method is the one that 
Dogberry held to be " odious." 

I think it grows pleasanter to us to be remembered 
by the friends we still have, as with each year they 
grow fewer. We have lost Agassiz and Sumner from 
our circle, and I found Motley stricken with threatening 
illness (which I hope is gradually yielding to treatment), 


in the profoundest grief at the loss of his wife, another 
old and dear friend of mine. So you may be assured 
that I feel most sensibly your kind attention, and send 
you my heartfelt thanks for remembering me. 

Always, dear Mrs. Stowe, faithfully yours, 

0. W. Holmes. 

To this letter Mrs. Stowe replied as follows : — 

Mandarin, February 23, 1876. 

Dear Doctor, — How kind it was of you to write 
me that very beautiful note ! and how I wish you were 
just where I am, to see the trees laden at the same time 
with golden oranges and white blossoms ! I should so 
like to cut off a golden cluster, leaves and all, for you. 
Well, Boston seems very far away and dreamy, like 
some previous state of existence, as I sit on the veranda 
and gaze on the receding shores of the St. John's, which 
at this point is five miles wide. 

" Dear doctor, how time slips by ! I remember when 
Sumner seemed to me a young man, and now he has 
gone. And Wilson has gone, and Chase, whom I knew 
as a young man in society in Cincinnati, has gone, and 
Stanton has gone, and Seward has gone, and yet how 
lively the world races on ! A few air-bubbles of praise 
or lamentation, and away sails the great ship of life, no 
matter over whose grave ! 

Well, one cannot but feel it ! To me, also, a whole 
generation of friends has gone from the other side of 
the water since I was there and broke kindly bread with 
them. The Duchess of Sutherland, the good old duke, 
Lansdowne, Ellesmere, Lady Byron, Lord and Lady 


Amberly, Charles Kingsley, the good Quaker, Joseph 
Sturge, all are with the shadowy train that has moved 
on. Among them were as dear and true friends as I 
ever had, and as pure and noble specimens of human 
beings as God ever made. They are living somewhere 
in intense vitality, I must believe, and you, dear doctor, 
must not doubt. 

I think about your writings a great deal, and one 
element in them always attracts me. It is their pitiful 
and sympathetic vein, the pity for poor, struggling hu- 
man nature. In this I feel that you must be very near 
and dear to Him whose name is Love. 

You wrote some verses once that have got into the 
hymn-books, and have often occurred to me in my most 
sacred hours as descriptive of the feelings with which 
I bear the sorrows and carry the cares of life. They 
begin, — 

" Love Divine, that stooped to share." 

I have not all your books down here, and am haunted 
by gaps in the verses that memory cannot make good ; 
but it is that " Love Divine " which is my stay and com- 
fort and hope, as one friend after another passes be- 
yond sight and hearing. Please let me have it in your 

I remember a remark you once made on spiritualism. 
I cannot recall the words, but you spoke of it as modi- 
fying the sharp angles of Calvinistic belief, as a fog 
does those of a landscape. I would like to talk with 
you some time on spiritualism, and show you a collec- 
tion of very curious facts that I have acquired through 
mediums not professional. Mr. Stowe has just been 
wading through eight volumes of " La Mystique," by 


Goerres, professor for forty years past in the University 
of Munich, first of physiology and latterly of phi- 
losophy. He examines the whole cycle of abnormal 
psychic, spiritual facts, trances, ecstasy, clairvoyance, 
witchcraft, spiritualism, etc., etc., as shown in the Rom- 
ish miracles and the history of Europe. 

I have long since come to the conclusion that the 
marvels of spiritualism are natural, and not supernat- 
ural, phenomena, — an uncommon working of natural 
laws. I believe that the door between those in the 
body and those out has never in any age been entirely 
closed, and that occasional perceptions within the veil 
are a part of the course of nature, and therefore not 
miraculous. Of course such a phase of human experi- 
ence is very substantial ground for every kind of im- 
posture and superstition, and I have no faith whatever 
in mediums who practice for money. In their case I 
think the law of Moses, that forbade consulting those 
who dealt with " familiar spirits," a very wise one. 

Do write some more, dear doctor. You are too well 
off in your palace down there on the new land. Your 
Centennial Ballad was a charming little peep ; now 
give us a full-fledged story. Mr. Stowe sends his best 
regards, and wishes you would read " Goerres." * It is 
in French also, and he thinks the French translation 
better than the German. 

Yours ever truly, H. B. Stowe. 

Writing in the autumn of 1876 to her son Charles, 
who was at that time abroad, studying at Bonn, Mrs. 
Stowe describes a most tempestuous passage between 

1 Die Christliche Mystik, by Johaun Joseph Gorres, Regensburg, 1836-42. 


New York and Charleston, during which she and her 
husband and daughters suffered so much that they 
were ready to forswear the sea forever. The great 
waves as they rushed, boiling and seething, past would 
peer in at the little bull's-eye window of the state-room, 
as if eager to swallow up ship and passengers. From 
Charleston, however, they had a most delightful run to 
their journey's end. She writes : " We had a triumphal 
entrance into the St. John's, and a glorious sail up the 
river. Arriving at Mandarin, at four o'clock, we found 
all the neighbors, black as well as white, on the wharf 
to receive us. There was a great waving of handker- 
chiefs and flags, clapping of hands and cheering, as 
we drew near. The house was open and all ready for 
us, and we are delighted to be once more in our beauti- 
ful Florida home." 

In the following December she writes to her son : 
" I am again entangled in writing a serial, a thing I 
never mean to do again, but the story, begun for a 
mere Christmas brochure, grew so under my hands 
that I thought I might as well fill it out and make a 
book of it. It is the last thing of the kind I ever ex- 
pect to do. In it I condense my recollections of a 
bygone era, that in which I was brought up, the ways 
and manners of which are now as nearly obsolete as 
the Old England of Dickens's stories is. 

" I am so hampered by the necessity of writing this 
story, that I am obliged to give up company and visit- 
ing of all kinds and keep my strength for it. I hope 
I may be able to finish it, as I greatly desire to do so, 
but I begin to feel that I am not so strong as I used 
to be. Your mother is an old woman, Charley mine, 


and it is best she should give up writing before people 
are tired of reading her. 

" I would much rather have written another such a 
book as ' Footsteps of the Master,' but all, even the 
religious papers, are gone mad on serials. Serials they 
demand and will have, and I thought, since this genera- 
tion will listen to nothing but stories, why not tell 
them ? " 

The book thus referred to was " Poganuc People," 
that series of delightful reminiscences of the New Eng- 
land life of nearly a century ago, that has proved so 
fascinating to many thousands of readers. It was pub- 
lished in 1878, and, as Mrs. Stowe foresaw, was her last 
literary undertaking of any length, though for several 
years afterwards she wrote occasional short stories and 

In January, 1879, she wrote from Mandarin to Dr. 
Holmes : — 

Dear Doctor, — I wish I could give to you and 
Mrs. Holmes the exquisite charm of this morning. My 
window is wide open ; it is a lovely, fresh, sunny day, 
and a great orange tree hung with golden balls closes 
the prospect from my window. The tree is about thirty 
feet high, and its leaves fairly glisten in the sunshine. 

I sent " Poganuc People " to you and Mrs. Holmes 
as being among the few who know those old days. It 
is an extremely quiet story for these sensational days, 
when heaven and earth seem to be racked for a thrill ; 
but as I get old I do love to think of those quiet, simple 
times when there was not a poor person in the parish, 
and the changing glories of the year were the only 


spectacle. We, that is the professor and myself, have 
been reading with much interest Motley's Memoir. 
That was a man to be proud of, a beauty, too (by your 
engraving). I never had the pleasure of a personal 

I feel with you that we have come into the land of 
leave-taking. Hardly a paper but records the death 
of some of Mr. Stowe's associates. But the river is not 
so black as it seems, and there are clear days when the 
opposite shore is plainly visible, and now and then we 
catch a strain of music, perhaps even a gesture of 
recognition. They are thinking of us, without doubt, 
on the other side. My daughters and I have been 
reading " Elsie Venner " again. Elsie is one of my 
especial friends, — poor, dear child ! — and all your 
theology in that book I subscribe to with both hands. 

Does not the Bible plainly tell us of a time when 
there shall be no more pain ? That is to be the end 
and crown of the Messiah's mission, when God shall 
wipe all tears away. My face is set that way, and yours, 
too, I trust and believe. 

Mr. Stowe sends hearty and affectionate remem- 
brance both to you and Mrs. Holmes, and I am, as ever, 
truly yours, H. B. Stowe. 

About this time Mrs. Stowe paid a visit to her 
brother Charles, at Newport, Fla., and, continuing her 
journey to New Orleans, was made to feel how little of 
bitterness towards her was felt by the best class of 
Southerners. In both New Orleans and Tallahassee she 
was warmly welcomed, and tendered public receptions 
that gave equal pleasure to her and to the throngs of 


cultivated people who attended them. She was also 
greeted everywhere with intense enthusiasm by the 
colored people, who, whenever they knew of her com- 
ing, thronged the railway stations in order to obtain 
a glimpse of her whom they venerated above all 

The return to her Mandarin home each succeeding 
winter was always a source of intense pleasure to this 
true lover of nature in its brightest and tenderest moods. 
Each recurring season was filled with new delights. 
In December, 1879, she writes to her son, now mar- 
ried and settled as a minister in Saco, Me. : — 

Dear Children, — Well, we have stepped from De- 
cember to June, and this morning is sunny and dewy, 
with a fresh sea-breeze giving life to the air. I have 
just been out to cut a great bunch of roses and lilies, 
though the garden is grown into such a jungle that I 
could hardly get about in it. The cannas, and dwarf 
bananas, and roses are all tangled together, so that I 
can hardly thread my way among them. I never in 
my life saw anything range and run rampant over the 
ground as cannas do. The ground is littered with 
fallen oranges, and the place looks shockingly untidy, 
but so beautiful that I am quite willing to forgive its 

We got here Wednesday evening about nine o'clock, 
and found all the neigbors waiting to welcome us on 
the wharf. The Meads, and Cranes, and Webbs, and 
all the rest were there, while the black population was 
in a frenzy of joy. Your father is quite well. The 
sea had its usual exhilarating effect upon him. Before 


we left New York he was quite meek, and exhibited 
such signs of grace and submission that I had great 
hopes of him. He promised to do exactly as I told 
him, and stated that he had entire confidence in my 
guidance. What woman couldn't call such a spirit 
evidence of being prepared for speedy translation ? I 
was almost afraid he could not be long for this world. 
But on the second day at sea his spirits rose, and his 
appetite reasserted itself. He declared in loud tones 
how well he felt, and quite resented my efforts to take 
care of him. I reminded him of his gracious vows and 
promises in the days of his low spirits, but to no effect. 
The fact is, his self-will has not left him yet, and I have 
now no fear of his immediate translation. He is going 
to preach for us this morning. 

The last winter passed in this well-loved Southern 
home was that of 1883-84, for the following season 
Professor Stowe's health was in too precarious a state 
to permit him to undertake the long journey from 
Hartford. By this time one of Mrs. Stowe's fondest 
hopes had been realized; and, largely through her 
efforts, Mandarin had been provided with a pretty little 
Episcopal church, to which was attached a comfortable 
rectory, and over which was installed a regular clergy- 

In January, 1884, Mrs. Stowe writes : — 
" Mandarin looks very gay and airy now with its 
new • villas, and our new church and rectory. Our 
minister is perfect. I wish you could know him. He 
wants only physical strength. In everything else he is 
all one could ask. 


" It is a bright, lovely morning, and four orange- 
pickers are busy gathering our fruit. Our trees on the 
bluff have done better than any in Florida. 

" This winter I study nothing but Christ's life. First 
I read Farrar's account and went over it carefully. 
Now I am reading Geikie. It keeps my mind steady, 
and helps me to bear the languor and pain, of which 
I have more than usual this winter." 



Professor Stowe the Original of "Harry" in "Oldtown 
Folks." — Professor Stowe's Letter to George Eliot. — Her 
Remarks on the Same. — Professor Stowe's Narrative of his 
Youthful Adventures in the World of Spirits. — Professor 
Stowe's Influence on Mrs. Stowe's Literary Life. — George 
Eliot on " Oldtown Folks." 

This biography would be signally incomplete without 
some mention of the birth, childhood, early associations, 
and very peculiar and abnormal psychological experi- 
ences of Professor Stowe. Aside from the fact of Dr. 
Stowe's being Mrs. Stowe's husband, and for this reason 
entitled to notice in any sketch of her life, however 
meagre, he is the original of the " visionary boy " in 
"Oldtown Folks;" and "Oldtown Fireside Stories" 
embody the experiences of his childhood and youth 
among the grotesque and original characters of his na- 
tive town. 

March 26, 1882, Professor Stowe wrote the follow- 
ing characteristic letter to Mrs. Lewes : — 

Mrs. Lewes, — I fully sympathize with you in your 
disgust with Hume and the professing mediums gener- 

Hume spent his boyhood in my father's native town, 
among my relatives and acquaintances, and he was a 


disagreeable, nasty boy. But he certainly has qualities 
which science has not yet explained, and some of his 
doings are as real as they are strange. My interest 
in the subject of spiritualism arises from the fact of my 
own experience, more than sixty years ago, in my early 
childhood. I then never thought of questioning the 
objective reality of all I saw, and supposed that every- 
body else had the same experience. Of what this ex- 
perience was you may gain some idea from certain pas- 
sages in " Oldtown Folks." 

The same experiences continue yet, but with serious 
doubts as to the objectivity of the scenes exhibited. 
I have noticed that people who have remarkable and 
minute answers to prayer, such as Stilling, Franke, 
Lavater, are for the most part of this peculiar tempera- 
ment. Is it absurd to suppose that some peculiarity in 
the nervous system, in the connecting link between soul 
and body, may bring some, more than others, into an 
almost abnormal contact with the spirit -world (for 
example, Jacob Boehme and Swedenborg), and that, 
too, without correcting their faults, or making them 
morally better than others ? Allow me to say that I 
have always admired the working of your mind, there 
is about it such a perfect uprightness and uncalculating 
honesty. I think you are a better Christian without 
church or theology than most people are with both, 
though I am, and always have been in the main, a Cal- 
vinist of the Jonathan Edwards school. God bless 
you ! I have a warm side for Mr. Lewes on account of 
his Goethe labors. 

Goethe has been my admiration for more than forty 
years. In 1830 I got hold of his " Faust," and for two 


gloomy, dreary November days, while riding through 
the woods of New Hampshire in an old-fashioned stage- 
coach, to enter upon a professorship in Dartmouth Col- 
lege, I was perfectly dissolved by it. 

Sincerely yours, C. E. Stowe. 

In a letter to Mrs. Stowe, written June 24, 1872, 
Mrs. Lewes alludes to Professor Stowe's letter as fol- 
lows : " Pray give my special thanks to the professor 
for his letter. His handwriting, which does really look 
like Arabic, — a very graceful character, surely, — hap- 
pens to be remarkably legible to me, and I did not 
hesitate over a single word. Some of the words, as 
expressions of fellowship, were very precious to me, and 
I hold it very good of him to write to me that best sort 
of encouragement. I was much impressed with the fact 
— which you have told me — that he was the original 
of the " visionary boy " in " Oldtown Folks ; " and it 
must be deeply interesting to talk with him on his ex- 
perience. Perhaps I am inclined, under the influence 
of the facts, physiological and psychological, which have 
been gathered of late years, to give larger place to the 
interpretation of vision-seeing as subjective than the 
professor would approve. It seems difficult to limit — 
at least to limit with any precision — the possibility of 
confounding sense by impressions derived from inward 
conditions with those which are directly dependent on 
external stimulus. In fact, the division between within 
and without in this sense seems to become every year a 
more subtle and bewildering problem." 

In 1834, while Mr. Stowe was a professor in Lane 
Theological Seminary at Cincinnati, Ohio, he wrote out 


a history of his youthful adventures in the spirit-world, 
from which the following extracts are taken : — 

" I have often thought I would communicate to some 
scientific physician a particular account of a most singu- 
lar delusion under which I lived from my earliest in- 
fancy till the fifteenth or sixteenth year of my age, and 
the effects of which remain very distinctly now that I 
am past thirty. 

" The facts are of such a nature as to be indelibly 
impressed upon my mind they appear to me to be curi- 
ous, and well worth the attention of the psychologist. 
I regard the occurrences in question as the more remark- 
able because I cannot discover that I possess either 
taste or talent for fiction or poetry. I have barely 
imagination enough to enjoy, with a high degree of 
relish, the works of others in this department of litera- 
ture, but have never felt able or disposed to engage in 
that sort of writing myself. On the contrary, my style 
has always been remarkable for its dry, matter-of-fact 
plainness ; my mind has been distinguished for its quick- 
ness and adaptedness to historical and literary investi- 
gations, for ardor and perseverance in pursuit of the 
knowledge of facts, — eine verstdndige Richtung, as the 
Germans would say, — rather than for any other quality ; 
and the only talent of a higher kind which I am con- 
scious of possessing is a turn for accurate observation 
of men and things, and a certain broad humor and 

" From the hour of my birth I have been constitu- 
tionally feeble, as were my parents before me, and my 
nervous system easily excitable. With care, however, 
I have kept myself in tolerable health, and my life has 


C 7> 


been an industrious one, for my parents were poor 
and I have always been obliged to labor for my liveli- 

" With these preliminary remarks, I proceed to the 
curious details of my psychological history. As early 
as I can remember anything, I can remember observing 
a multitude of animated and active objects, which I 
could see with perfect distinctness, moving about me, 
and could sometimes, though seldom, hear them make 
a rustling noise, or other articulate sounds ; but I could 
never touch them. They were in all respects inde- 
pendent of the sense of touch, and incapable of being 
obstructed in any way by the intervention of material 
objects ; I could see them at any distance, and through 
any intervening object, with as much ease and distinct- 
ness as if they were in the room with me, and directly 
before my eyes. I could see them passing through the 
floors, and the ceilings, and the walls of the house, from 
one apartment to another, in all directions, without a 
door, or a keyhole, or crevice being open to admit them. 
I could follow them with my eyes to any distance, or 
directly through or just beneath the surface, or up and 
down, in the midst of boards and timbers and bricks, or 
whatever else would stop the motion or intercept the 
visibleness of all other objects. These appearances oc- 
casioned neither surprise nor alarm, except when they 
assumed some hideous and frightful form, or exhibited 
some menacing gesture, for I became acquainted with 
them as soon as with any of the objects of sense. As 
to the reality of their existence and the harmlessness of 
their character, I knew no difference between them and 
any other of the objects which met my eye. They were 


as familiar to me as the forms of my parents and my 
brother ; they made up a part of my daily existence, 
and were as really the subjects of my consciousness as 
the little bench on which I sat in the corner by my 
mother's knee, or the wheels and sticks and strings with 
which I amused myself upon the floor. I indeed recog- 
nized a striking difference between them and the things 
which I could feel and handle, but to me this difference 
was no more a matter of surprise than that which I ob- 
served between my mother and the black woman who 
so often came to work for her ; or between my infant 
brother and the little spotted dog Brutus of which I 
was so fond. There was no time, or place, or circum- 
stance, in which they did not occasionally make their 
appearance. Solitude and silence, however, were more 
favorable to their appearance than company and con- 
versation. They were more pleased with candle-light 
than the daylight. They were most numerous, distinct, 
and active when I was alone and in the dark, especially 
when my mother had laid me in bed and returned to 
her own room with the candle. At such times, I al- 
ways expected the company of my aerial visitors, and 
counted upon it to amuse me till I dropped asleep. 
Whenever they failed to make their appearance, as was 
sometimes the case, I felt lonely and discontented. I 
kept up a lively conversation with them, — not by lan- 
guage or by signs, for the attempt on my part to speak 
or move would at once break the charm and drive them 
away in a fret, but by a peculiar sort of spiritual inter- 

" When their attention was directed towards me, I 
could feel and respond to all their thoughts and feel- 


ings, and was conscious that they could in the same 
manner feel and respond to mine. Sometimes they 
would take no notice of me, but carry on a brisk con- 
versation among themselves, principally by looks and 
gestures, with now and then an audible word. In fact, 
there were but few with whom I was very familiar. 
These few were much more constant and uniform in 
their visits than the great multitude, who were fre- 
quently changing, and too much absorbed in their own 
concerns to think much of me. I scarcely know how I 
can give an idea of their form and general appearance, 
for there are no objects in the material world with 
which I can compare them, and no language adapted to 
an accurate description of their peculiarities. They 
exhibited all possible combinations of size, shape, pro- 
portion, and color, but their most usual appearance was 
with the human form and proportion, but under a 
shadowy outline that seemed just ready to melt into the 
invisible air, and sometimes liable to the most sudden 
and grotesque changes, and with a uniform darkly 
bluish color spotted with brown, or brownish white. 
This was the general appearance of the multitude ; but 
there were many exceptions to this description, particu- 
larly among my more welcome and familiar visitors, as 
will be seen in the sequel. 

" Besides these rational and generally harmless beings, 
there was another set of objects which never varied in 
their form or qualities, and were always mischievous 
and terrible. The fact of their appearance depended 
very much on the state of my health and feelings. If 
I was well and cheerful they seldom troubled me ; but 
when sick or depressed they were sure to obtrude their 


hateful presence upon me. These were a sort of heavy 
clouds floating about overhead, of a black color, spotted 
with brown, in the shape of a very flaring inverted tun- 
nel without a nozzle, and from ten to thirty or forty feet 
in diameter. They floated from place to place in great 
numbers, and in all directions, with a strong and steady 
progress, but with a tremulous, quivering, internal mo- 
tion that agitated them in every part. 

" Whenever they appproached, the rational phantoms 
were thrown into great consternation ; and well it might 
be, for if a cloud touched any part of one of the ra- 
tional phantoms it immediately communicated its own 
color and tremulous motion to the part it touched. 

" In spite of all the efforts and convulsive struggles 
of the unhappy victim, this color and motion slowly, but 
steadily and uninteruptedly, proceeded to diffuse itself 
over every part of the body, and as fast as it did so the 
body was drawn into the cloud and became a part of its 
substance. It was indeed a fearful sight to see the 
contortions, the agonizing efforts, of the poor creatures 
who had been touched by one of these awful clouds, 
and were dissolving and melting into, it by inches with- 
out the possibility of escape or resistance. 

" This was the only visible object that had the least 
power over the phantoms, and this was evidently com- 
posed of the same material as themselves. The forms 
and actions of all these phantoms varied very much 
with the state of my health and animal spirits, but I 
never could discover that the surrounding material ob- 
jects had any influence upon them, except in this one 
particular, namely, if I saw them in a neat, well fur- 
nished room, there was a neatness and polish in their 


form and motions ; and, on the contrary, if I was in an 
unfinished, rough apartment, there was a corresponding 
rudeness and roughness in my serial visitors. A cor- 
responding difference was visible when I saw them in 
the woods or in the meadows, upon the water or upon 
the ground, in the air or among the stars. 

" Every different apartment which I occupied had a 
different set of phantoms, and they always had a de- 
gree of correspondence to the circumstances in which 
they were seen. (It should be noted, however, that it 
was not so much the place where the phantoms them- 
selves appeared to me to be, that affected their forms 
and movements, as the place in which I myself actually 
was while observing them. The apparent locality of- 
the phantoms, it is true, had some influence, but my 
own actual locality had much more.) 

" Thus far I have attempted only a general outline 
of these curious experiences. I will now proceed to a 
detailed account of several particular incidents, for the 
sake of illustrating the general statements already 
made. I select a few from manifestations without 
number. I am able to ascertain dates from the follow- 
ing circumstances : — 

" I was born in April, 1802, and my father died in 
July, 1808, after suffering for more than a year from 
a lingering organic disease. Between two and three 
years before his death he removed from the house in 
which I was born to another at a little distance from it. 
What occurred, therefore, before my father's last sick- 
ness, must have taken place during the first five years 
of my life, and whatever took place before the removal 
of the family must have taken place during the first 


three years of my life. Before the removal of the fam- 
ily I slept in a small upper chamber in the front part 
of the house, where I was generally alone for several 
hours in the evening and morning. Adjoining this 
room, and opening into it by a very small door, was a 
low, dark, narrow, unfinished closet, which was open 
on the other side into a ruinous, old chaise-house. 
This closet was a famous place for the gambols of the 
phantoms, but of their forms and actions I do not now 
retain any very distinct recollection. I only remember 
that I was very careful not to do anything that I 
thought would be likely to offend them ; yet otherwise 
their presence caused me no uneasiness, and was not at 
all disagreeable to me. 

" The first incident of which I have a distinct recol- 
lection was the following : — 

" One night, as I was lying alone in my chamber 
with my little dog Brutus snoring beside my bed, there 
came out of the closet a very large Indian woman and 
a very small Indian man, with a huge bass-viol between 
them. The woman was dressed in a large, loose, black 
gown, secured around her waist by a belt of the same 
material, and on her head she wore a high, dark gray 
fur cap, shaped somewhat like a lady's muff, orna- 
mented with a row of covered buttons in front, and 
open towards the bottom, showing a red lining. The 
man was dressed in a shabby, black-colored overcoat 
and a little round, black hat that fitted closely to his 
head. They took no notice of me, but were rather ill- 
natured towards each other, and seemed to be disputing 
for the possession of the bass-viol. The man snatched 
it away and struck upon it a few harsh, hollow notes, 


which I distinctly heard, and which seemed to vibrate 
through my whole body, with a strange, stinging sensa- 
tion. The woman then took it and appeared to play 
very intently and much to her own satisfaction, but 
without producing any sound that was perceptible by 
me. They soon left the chamber, and I saw them go 
down into the back kitchen, where they sat and played 
and talked with my mother. It was only when the 
man took the bow that I could hear the harsh, abrupt, 
disagreeable sounds of the instrument. At length they 
arose, went out of the back door, and sprang upon a 
large heap of straw and unthreshed beans, and disap- 
peared with a strange, rumbling sound. This vision 
was repeated night after night with scarcely any varia- 
tion while we lived in that house, and once, and once 
only, after the family had removed to the other house. 
The only thing that seemed to me unaccountable and 
that excited my curiosity was that there should be such 
a large heap of straw and beans before the door every 
night, when 1 could see nothing of it in the daytime. 
I frequently crept out of bed and stole softly down into 
the kitchen, and peeped out of the door to see if it was 
there very early in the morning. 

" I attempted to make some inquiries of my mother, 
but as I was not as yet very skillful in the use of lan- 
guage, I could get no satisfaction out of her answers, 
and could see that my questions seemed to distress her. 
At first she took little notice of what I said, regarding 
it no doubt as the meaningless prattle of a thoughtless 
child. My persistence, however, seemed to alarm her, 
and I suppose that she feared for my sanity. I soon 
desisted from asking anything further, and shut myself 


more and more within myself. One night, very soon 
after the removal, when the house was still, and all the 
family were in bed, these unearthly musicians once 
made their appearance in the kitchen of the new house, 
and after looking around peevishly, and sitting with a 
discontented frown and in silence, they arose and went 
out of the back door, and sprang on a pile of corn- 
stalks, and I saw them no more. 

" Our new dwelling was a low-studded house of only 
one story, and, instead of an upper chamber, I now 
occupied a bedroom that opened into the kitchen. 
Within this bedroom, directly on the left hand of the 
door as you entered from the kitchen, was the stair- 
case which led to the garret ; and, as the room was 
unfinished, some of the boards which inclosed the stair- 
case were too short, and left a considerable space be- 
tween them and the ceiling. One of these open spaces 
was directly in front of my bed, so that when I lay 
upon my pillow my face was opposite to it. Every 
night, after I had gone to bed and the candle was re- 
moved, a very pleasant-looking human face would peer 
at me over the top of that board, and gradually press 
forward his head, neck, shoulders, and finally his whole 
body as far as the waist, through the opening, and 
then, smiling upon me with great good-nature, would 
withdraw in the same manner in which he had entered. 
He was a great favorite of mine ; for though we neither 
of us spoke, we perfectly understood, and were entirely 
devoted to, each other. It is a singular fact that the 
features of this favorite phantom bore a very close 
resemblance to those of a boy older than myself whom 
I feared and hated : still the resemblance was so strong 
that I called him by the same name, Harvey. 

HARVEY. 431 

" Harvey's visits were always expected and always 
pleasant; but sometimes there were visitations of an- 
other sort, odious and frightful. One of these I will 
relate as a specimen of the rest. 

" One night, after I had retired to bed and was look- 
ing for Harvey, I observed an unusual number of the 
tunnel-shaped tremulous clouds already described, and 
they seemed intensely black and strongly agitated. 
This alarmed me exceedingly, and I had a terrible feel- 
ing that something awful was going to happen. It was 
not long before I saw Harvey at his accustomed place, 
cautiously peeping at me through the aperture, with an 
expression of pain and terror on his countenance. He 
seemed to warn me to be on my guard, but was afraid 
to put his head into the room lest he should be touched 
by one of the clouds, which were every moment grow- 
ing thicker and more numerous. Harvey soon with- 
drew and left me alone. On turning my eyes towards 
the left-hand wall of the room, I thought I saw at an 
immense distance below me the regions of the damned, 
as I had heard them pictured in sermons. From this 
awful world of horror the tunnel-shaped clouds were 
ascending, and I perceived that they were the principal 
instruments of torture in these gloomy abodes. These 
regions were at such an immense distance below me 
that I could obtain but a very indistinct view of the 
inhabitants, who were very numerous and exceedingly 
active. Near the surface of the earth, and as it seemed 
to me but a little distance from my bed, I saw four or 
five sturdy, resolute devils endeavoring to carry off an 
unprincipled and dissipated man in the neighborhood, 
by the name of Brown, of whom I had stood in terror 


for years. These devils I saw were very different from 
the common representations. They had neither red 
faces, nor horns, nor hoofs, nor tails. They were in all 
respects stoutly built and well-dressed gentlemen. The 
only peculiarity that I noted in their appearance was as 
to their heads. Their faces and necks were perfectly 
bare, without hair or flesh, and of a uniform sky-blue 
color, like the ashes of burnt paper before it falls to 
pieces, and of a certain glossy smoothness. 

" As I looked on, full of eagerness, the devils strug- 
gled to force Brown down with them, and Brown 
struggled with the energy of desperation to save him- 
self from their grip, and it seemed that the human was 
likely to prove too strong for the infernal. In this 
emergency one of the devils, panting for breath and 
covered with perspiration, beckoned to a strong, thick 
cloud that seemed to understand him perfectly, and, 
whirling up to Brown, touched his hand. Brown re- 
sisted stoutly, and struck out right and left at the cloud 
most furiously, but the usual effect was produced, — 
the hand grew black, quivered, and seemed to be melt- 
ing into the cloud ; then the arm, by slow degrees, and 
then the head and shoulders. At this instant Brown, 
collecting all his energies for one desperate effort, 
sprang at once into the centre of the cloud, tore it 
asunder, and descended to the ground, exclaiming, with 
a hoarse, furious voice that grated on my ear, * There, 
I 've got out ; dam'me if I have n't ! ' This was the 
first word that had been spoken through the whole 
horrible scene. It was the first time I had ever seen a 
cloud fail to produce its appropriate result, and it terri- 
fied me so that I trembled from head to foot. The 


devils, however, did not seem to be in the least dis- 
couraged. One of them, who seemed to be the leader, 
went away and quickly returned bringing with him an 
enormous pair of rollers fixed in an iron frame, such 
as are used in iron-mills for the purpose of rolling out 
and slitting bars of iron, except instead of being turned 
by machinery, each roller was turned by an immense 
crank. Three of the devils now seized Brown and put 
his feet to the rollers, while two others stood, one at 
each crank, and began to roll him in with a steady 
strain that was entirely irresistible. Not a word was 
spoken, not a sound was heard ; but the fearful strug- 
gles and terrified, agonizing looks of Brown were more 
than I could endure. I sprang from my bed and ran 
through the kitchen into the room where my parents 
slept, and entreated that they would permit me to spend 
the remainder of the night with them. After consider- 
able parleying they assured me that nothing could hurt 
me, and advised me to go back to bed. I replied that 
I was not afraid of their hurting me, but I could n't 
bear to see them acting so with C. Brown. ' Poh ! 
poh ! you foolish boy,' replied my father, sternly. 
* You 've only been dreaming ; go right back to bed, 
or I shall have to whip you.' Knowing that there was 
no other alternative, I trudged back through the kitchen 
with all the courage I could muster, cautiously entered 
my room, where I found everything quiet, there being 
neither cloud, nor devil, nor anything of the kind to 
be seen, and getting into bed I slept quietly till morn- 
ing. The next day I was rather sad and melancholy, 
but kept all my troubles to myself, through fear of 
Brown. This happened before my father's sickness, 


and consequently between the four and six years of 
my age. 

" During my father's sickness and after his death I 
lived with my grandmother ; and when I had removed 
to her house I forever lost sight of Harvey. I still con- ■ 
tinued to sleep alone for the most part, but in a neatly 
furnished upper chamber. Across the corner of the 
chamber, opposite to and at a little distance from the 
head of my bed, there was a closet in the form of an 
old-fashioned buffet. After going to bed, on looking 
at the door of this closet, I could see at a great distance 
from it a pleasant meadow, terminated by a beautiful 
little grove. Out of this grove, and across this meadow, 
a charming little female figure would advance, about 
eight inches high and exquisitely proportioned, dressed 
in a loose black silk robe, with long, smooth black hair 
parted up her head and hanging loose over her shoul- 
ders. She would come forward with a slow and regular 
•step, becoming more distinctly visible as she approached 
nearer, till she came even with the surface of the closet 
door, when she would smile upon me, raise her hands to 
her head and draw them down on each side of her face, 
suddenly turn round, and go off at a rapid trot. The 
moment she turned I could see a good-looking mulatto 
man, rather smaller than herself, following directly in 
her wake and trotting off after her. This was gener- 
ally repeated two or three times before I went to sleep. 
The features of the mulatto bore some resemblance to 
those of the Indian man with the bass-viol, but were 
much more mild and agreeable. 

" I awoke one bright, moonlight night, and found a 


large, full-length human skeleton of an ashy-blue color 
in bed with me ! I screamed out with fright, and soon 
summoned the family around me. I refused to tell the 
cause of my alarm, but begged permission to occupy 
another bed, which was granted. 

" For the remainder of the night I slept but little ; 
but I saw upon the window-stools companies of little 
fairies, about six inches high, in white robes, gamboling 
and dancing with incessant merriment. Two of them, 
a male and female, rather taller than the rest, were dig- 
nified with a crown and sceptre. They took the kind- 
est notice of me, smiled upon me with great benignity, 
and seemed to assure me of their protection. I was 
soothed and cheered by their presence, though after all 
there was a sort of sinister and selfish expression in 
their countenances which prevented my placing implicit 
confidence in them. 

" Up to this time I had never doubted the real exist- 
ence of these phantoms, nor had I ever suspected that 
other people had not seen them as distinctly as myself. 
I now, however, began to discover with no little anxiety 
that my friends had little or no knowledge of the serial 
beings among whom I have spent my whole life ; that 
my allusions to them were not understood, and all com- 
plaints respecting them were laughed at. I had never 
been disposed to say much about them, and this dis- 
covery confirmed me in my silence. It did not, how- 
ever, affect my own belief, or lead me to suspect that my 
imaginations were not realities. 

" During the whole of this period I took great pleas- 
ure in walking out alone, particularly in the evening. 
The most lonely fields, the woods, and the banks of the 


river, and other places most completely secluded, were 
my favorite resorts, for there I could enjoy the sight of 
innumerable serial beings of all sorts, without interrup- 
tion. Every object, even every shaking leaf, seemed to 
me to be animated by some living soul, whose nature in 
some degree corresponded to its habitation. I spent 
much of my life in these solitary rambles ; there were 
particular places to which I gave names, and visited 
them at regular intervals. Moonlight was particularly 
agreeable to me, but most of all I enjoyed a thick, 
foggy night. At times, during these walks, I would be 
excessively oppressed by an indefinite and deep feeling 
of melancholy. Without knowing why, I would be so 
unhappy as to wish myself annihilated, and suddenly it 
would occur to me that my friends at home were suffer- 
ing some dreadful calamity, and so vivid would be the 
impression, that I would hasten home with all speed to 
see what had taken place. At such seasons I felt a 
morbid love for my friends that would almost burn up 
my soul, and yet, at the least provocation from them, I 
would fly into an uncontrollable passion and foam like 
a little fury. I was called a dreadful-tempered boy; 
but the Lord knows that I never occasioned pain to any 
animal, whether human or brutal, without suffering un- 
told agonies in consequence of it. I cannot, even now, 
without feelings of deep sorrow, call to mind the alter- 
nate fits of corroding melancholy, irritation, and bitter 
remorse which I then endured. These fits of melan- 
choly were most constant and oppressive during the 
autumnal months. 

" I very early learned to read, and soon became im- 
moderately attached to books. In the Bible I read the 


first chapters of Job, and parts of Ezekiel, Daniel, and 
Revelation, with most intense delight, and with such 
frequency that I could repeat large portions from 
memory long before the age at which boys in the coun- 
try are usually able to read plain sentences. The first 
large book besides the Bible that I remember reading 
was Morse's i History of New England,' which I de- 
voured with insatiable greediness, particularly those 
parts which relate to Indian wars and witchcraft. I 
was in the habit of applying to my grandmother for 
explanations, and she would relate to me, while I lis- 
tened with breathless attention, long stories from Ma- 
ther's ' Magnalia ' or (Mag-nilly, as she used to call it), 
a work which I earnestly longed to read, but of which 
I never got sight till after my twentieth year. Very 
early there fell into my hands an old school-book, called 
' The Art of Speaking,' containing numerous extracts 
from Milton and Shakespeare. There was little else in 
the book that interested me, but these extracts from the 
two great English poets, though there were many things 
in them that I did not well understand, I read again 
and again, with increasing pleasure at every perusal, till 
I had nearly committed them to memory, and almost 
thumbed the old book into nonenity. But of all the 
books that I read at this period, there was none that 
went to my heart like Bunyan's ' Pilgrim's Progress.' 
I read it and re-read it night and day ; I took it to bed 
with me and hugged it to my bosom while I slept ; every 
different edition that I could find I seized upon and 
read with as eager a curiosity as if it had been a new 
story throughout ; and I read with the unspeakable 
satisfaction of most devoutly believing that everything 


which l Honest John ' related was a real verity, an ac- 
tual occurrence. Oh that I could read that most inimi- 
table book once more with the same solemn conviction 
of its literal truth, that I might once more enjoy the 
same untold ecstacy ! 

" One other remark it seems proper to make before 
I proceed further to details. The appearance, and 
especially the motions, of my aerial visitors were inti- 
mately connected, either as cause or effect, I cannot 
determine which, with certain sensations of my own. 
Their countenances generally expressed pleasure or pain, 
complaisance or anger, according to the mood of my 
own mind : if they moved from place to place without 
moving their limbs, with that gliding motion appro- 
priate to spirits, I felt in my stomach that peculiar tick- 
ling sensation which accompanies a rapid, progressive 
movement through the air ; and if they went off with 
an uneasy trot, I felt an unpleasant jarring through my 
frame. Their appearance was always attended with 
considerable effort and fatigue on my part : the more 
distinct and vivid they were, the more would my fatigue 
be increased ; and at such times my face was always 
pale, and my eyes unusually sparkling and wild. This 
continued to be the case after I became satisfied that it 
was all a delusion of the imagination, and it so con- 
tinues to the present day." 

It is not surprising that Mrs. Stowe should have felt 
herself impelled to give literary form to an experience 
so exceptional. Still more must this be the case when 
the early associations of this exceptional character were 
as amusing and interesting as they are shown forth in 
" Oldtown Fireside Stories.' ' 


None of the incidents or characters embodied in 
those sketches are ideal. The stories are told as they 
came from Mr. Stowe's lips, with little or no alteration. 
Sam Lawson was a real character. In 1874 Mr. Whit- 
tier wrote to Mrs. Stowe : " I am not able to write or 
study much, or read books that require thought, without 
suffering, but I have Sam Lawson lying at hand, and, 
as Corporal Trim said of Yorick's sermon, 'I like it 
hugely.' " 

The power and literary value of these stories lie in 
the fact that they are true to nature. Professor 
Stowe was himself an inimitable mimic and story-teller. 
No small proportion of Mrs. Stowe's success as a liter- 
ary woman is to be attributed to him. Not only was 
he possessed of a bright, quick mind, but wonderful 
retentiveness of memory. Mrs. Stowe was never at a 
loss for reliable information on any subject as long 
as the professor lived. He belonged to that extinct 
species, the " general scholar." His scholarship was not 
critical in the modern sense of the word, but in the 
main accurate, in spite of his love for the marvelous. 

It is not out of place to give a little idea of his 
power in character-painting, as it shows how suggestive 
his conversation and letters must have been to a mind 
like that of Mrs. Stowe : — 

Natick, July 14, 1839. 

I have had a real good time this week writing my 
oration. I have strolled over my old walking places, 
and found the same old stone walls, the same old foot- 
paths through the rye-fields, the same bends in the 
river, the same old bullfrogs with their green spectacles 
on, the same old terrapins sticking up their heads and 


bowing as I go by ; and nothing was wanting but my 
wife to talk with to make all complete. ... I have 
had some rare talks with old uncle " Jaw " Bacon, and 
other old characters, which you ought to have heard. 
The Curtises have been flooding Uncle "Jaw's" mead- 
ows, and he is in a great stew about it. He says: 
"I took and tell'd your Uncle Izic to tell them 'ere 
Curtises that if the Devil did n't git 'em far flowing my 
medder arter that sort, I did n't see no use o' havin' any 
Devil." " Have you talked with the Curtises yourself ? " 
" Yes, hang the sarcy dogs ! and they took and tell'd 
me that they 'd take and flow clean up to my front 
door, and make me go out and in in a boat." " Why 
don't you go to law ? " " Oh, they keep alterin' and er 
tinkerin'-up the laws so here in Massachusetts that a 
body can't git no damage fur flowing ; they think cold 
water can't hurt nobody." 

Mother and Aunt Nabby each keep separate estab- 
lishments. First Aunt Nabby gets up in the morning 
and examines the sink, to see whether it leaks and rots 
the beam. She then makes a little fire, gets her little 
teapot of bright shining tin, and puts into it a tea- 
spoonful of black tea, and so prepares her breakfast. 

By this time mother comes creeping down-stairs, like 
an old tabby-cat out of the ash-hole ; and she kind o' 
doubts and reckons whether or no she had better try to 
git any breakfast, bein' as she 's not much appetite this 
mornin' ; but she goes to the leg of bacon and cuts off 
a little slice, reckons sh'll broil it ; then goes and looks 
at the coffee-pot and reckons sh'll have a little coffee ; 
don't exactly know whether it 's good for her, but she 
don't drink much. So while Aunt Nabby is sitting 


sipping her tea and munching her bread and butter 
with a matter-of-fact certainty and marvelous satisfac- 
tion, mother goes doubting and reckoning round, like 
Mrs. Diffidence in Doubting Castle, till you see rising 
up another little table in another corner of the room, 
with a good substantial structure of broiled ham and 
coffee, and a boiled egg or two, with various et ceteras, 
which Mrs. Diffidence, after many desponding ejacula- 
tions, finally sits down to, and in spite of all presenti- 
ments makes them fly as nimbly as Mr. Ready-to-Halt 
did Miss Much-afraid when he footed it so well with 
her on his crutches in the dance on the occasion of 
Giant Despair's overthrow. 

I have thus far dined alternately with mother and 
Aunt Susan, not having yet been admitted to Aunt 
Nabby's establishment. There are now great talkings, 
and congresses and consultations of the allied powers, 
and already rumors are afloat that perhaps all will unite 
their forces and dine at one table, especially as Harriet 
and little Hattie are coming, and there is no knowing 
what might come out in the papers if there should be 
anything a little odd. 

Mother is very well, thin as a hatchet and smart as 
a steel trap ; Aunt Nabby, fat and easy as usual ; for 
since the sink is mended, and no longer leaks and rots 
the beam, and she has nothing to do but watch it, 
and Uncle Bill has joined the Washingtonians and no 
longer drinks rum, she is quite at a loss for topics of 

Uncle Ike has had a little touch of palsy and is 
rather feeble. He says that his legs and arms have 
rather gi'n out, but his head and pluck are as good as 


they ever were. I told him that our sister Kate was 
very much in the same fix, whereat he was considerably 
affected, and opened the crack in his great pumpkin of 
a face, displaying the same two rows of great white 
ivories which have been my admiration from my youth 
up. He is sixty-live years of age, and has never lost 
a tooth, and was never in his life more than fifteen 
miles from the spot where he was born, except once, in 
the ever-memorable year 1819, when I was at Bradford 

In a sudden glow of adventurous rashness he under- 
took to go after me and bring me home for vacation ; 
and he actually performed the whole journey of thirty 
miles with his horse and wagon, and slept at a tavern a 
whole night, a feat of bravery on which he has never 
since ceased to plume himself. I well remember that 
awful night in the tavern in the remote region of North 
Andover. We occupied a chamber in which were two 
beds. In the unsuspecting innocence of youth I un- 
dressed myself and got into bed as usual ; but my 
brave and thoughtful uncle, merely divesting himself 
of his coat, put it under his pillow, and then threw him- 
self on to the bed with his boots on his feet, and his 
two hands resting on the rim of his hat, which he had 
prudently placed on the apex of his stomach as he lay 
on his back. He would n't allow me to blow out the 
candle, but he lay there with his great white eyes 
fixed on the ceiling, in the cool, determined manner of 
a bold man who had made up his mind to face danger 
and meet whatever might befall him. We escaped, 
however, without injury, the doughty landlord and his 
relentless sons merely demanding pay for supper, lodg- 


ing, horse-feed, and breakfast, which my valiant uncle, 
betraying no signs of fear, resolutely paid. 

Mrs. Stowe has woven this incident into chapter 
thirty-two of " Oldtown Folks," where Uncle Ike fig- 
ures as Uncle Jacob. 

Mrs. Stowe had misgivings as to the reception which 
" Oldtown Folks " would meet in England, owing to 
its distinctively New England character. Shortly after 
the publication of the book she received the following 
words of encouragement from Mrs. Lewes (George 
Eliot), July 11, 1869 : — 

" I have received and read ' Oldtown Folks/ I 
think that few of your readers can have felt more inter- 
est than I have felt in that picture of an elder genera- 
tion ; for my interest in it has a double root, — one in 
my own love for our old-fashioned provincial life, which 
had its affinities with a contemporary life, even all 
across the Atlantic, and of which I have gathered 
glimpses in different phases from my father and mother, 
with their relations ; the other is my experimental ac- 
quaintance with some shades of Calvinistic orthodoxy. 
I think your way of presenting the religious convictions 
which are not your own, except by the way of indirect 
fellowship, is a triumph of insight and true tolerance. 
. . . Both Mr. Lewes and I are deeply interested in the 
indications which the professor gives of his peculiar 
psychological experience, and we should feel it a great 
privilege to learn much more of it from his lips. It is 
a rare thing to have such an opportunity of studying 
exceptional experience in the testimony of a truthful 
and in every way distinguished mind." 


" Oldtown Folks " is of interest as being undoubtedly 
the last of Mrs. Stowe's works which will outlive the 
generation for which it was written. Besides its intrin- 
sic merit as a work of fiction, it has a certain historic 
value as being a faithful study of " New England life 
and character in that particular time of its history 
which may be called the seminal period." 

Whether Mrs. Stowe was far enough away from the 
time and people she attempts to describe to "make 
(her) mind as still and passive as a looking-glass or a 
mountain lake, and to give merely the images reflected 
there," is something that will in great part determine 
the permanent value of this work. Its interest as a 
story merely is of course ephemeral. 



Mrs. Stowe's Statement of her own Case. — The Circumstances 
under which she first met lady byron. — letters to lady 
Byron. — Letter to Dr. Holmes when about to publish " The 
True Story of Lady Byron's Life " in the " Atlantic." — Dr. 
Holmes's Reply. — The Conclusion of the Matter. 

It seems impossible to avoid the unpleasant episode 
in Mrs. Stowe's life known as the "Byron Contro- 
versy." It will be our effort to deal with the matter 
as colorlessly as is consistent with an adequate setting 
forth of the motives which moved Mrs. Stowe to 
awaken this unsavory discussion. In justification of 
her action in this matter, Mrs. Stowe says : — 

" What interest have you and I, my brother and my 
sister, in this short life of ours, to utter anything but 
the truth ? Is not truth between man and man, and 
between man and woman, the foundation on which all 
things rest ? Have you not, every individual of you, 
who must hereafter give an account yourself alone to 
God, an interest to know the exact truth in this matter, 
and a duty to perform as respects that truth? Hear 
me, then, while I tell you the position in which I stood, 
and what was my course in relation to it. 

" A shameless attack on my friend's memory had 
appeared in the ' Blackwood ' of July, 1869, branding 
Lady Byron as the vilest of criminals, and recommend- 


ing the Guiecioli book to a Christian public as inter- 
esting" from the very fact that it was the avowed pro- 
duction of Lord Byron's mistress. No efficient protest 
was made against this outrage in England, and Littell's 
' Living Age ' reprinted the * Blackwood ' article, and 
the Harpers, the largest publishing house in America, 
perhaps in the world, republished the book. 

" Its statements — with those of the * Blackwood,' 
* Pall Mall Gazette,' and other English periodicals — 
were being propagated through all the young reading 
and writing world of America. I was meeting them 
advertised in dailies, and made up into articles in maga- 
zines, and thus the generation of to-day, who had no 
means of judging Lady Byron but by these fables of 
her slanderers, were being foully deceived. The friends 
who knew her personally were a small, select circle in 
England, whom death is every day reducing. They 
were few in number compared with the great world, and 
were silent. I saw these foul slanders crystallizing into 
history, uncontradicted by friends who knew her per- 
sonally, who, firm in their own knowledge of her vir- 
tues, and limited in view as aristocratic circles generally 
are, had no idea of the width of the world they were 
living in, and the exigency of the crisis. When time 
passed on and no voice was raised, I spoke." 

It is hardly necessary to recapitulate, at any great 
length, facts already so familiar to the reading public ; 
it may be sufficient simply to say that after the appear- 
ance in 1868 of the Countess Guiccioli's " Recollections 
of Lord Byron," Mrs. Stowe felt herself called upon to 
defend the memory of her friend from what she es- 
teemed to be falsehoods and slanders. To accomplish 


this object, she prepared for the " Atlantic Monthly " 
of September, 1869, an article, " The True Story of 
Lady Byron's Life." Speaking of her first impressions 
of Lady Byron, Mrs. Stowe says : — 

" I formed her acquaintance in the year 1853, dur- 
ing my first visit to England. I met her at a lunch 
party in the house of one of her friends. When I was 
introduced to her, I felt in a moment the words of her 
husband : — 

" ' There was awe in the homage that she drew ; 
Her spirit seemed as seated on a throne.' " 

It was in the fall of 1856, on the occasion of Mrs. 
Stowe's second visit to England, as she and her sister 
were on their way to Eversley to visit the Rev. C. 
Kingsley, that they stopped by invitation to lunch with 
Lady Byron at her summer residence at Ham Common, 
near Richmond. At that time Lady Byron informed 
Mrs. Stowe that it was her earnest desire to receive a 
visit from her on her return, as there was a subject of 
great importance concerning which she desired her ad- 
vice. Mrs. Stowe has thus described this interview 
with Lady Byron : — 

" After lunch, I retired with Lady Byron, and my 
sister remained with her friends. I should here remark 
that the chief subject of the conversation which ensued 
was not entirely new to me. 

" In the interval between my first and second visits 
to England, a lady who for many years had enjoyed 
Lady Byron's friendship and confidence had, with her 
consent, stated the case generally to me, giving some of 
the incidents, so that I was in a manner prepared for 
what followed. 


11 Those who accuse Lady Byron of being a person 
fond of talking upon this subject, and apt to make un- 
considered confidences, can have known very little of 
her, of her reserve, and of the apparent difficulty she 
had in speaking on subjects nearest her heart. Her 
habitual calmness and composure of manner, her col- 
lected dignity on all occasions, are often mentioned by 
her husband, sometimes with bitterness, sometimes with 
admiration. He says : ' Though I accuse Lady Byron 
of an excess of self-respect, I must in candor admit 
that, if ever a person had excuse for an extraordinary 
portion of it, she has, as in all her thoughts, words, and 
deeds she is the most decorous woman that ever existed, 
and must appear, what few I fancy could, a perfectly 
refined gentlewoman, even to her fcmme de chambre.' 

" This calmness and dignity were never more mani- 
fested than in this interview. In recalling; the conver- 
sation at this distance of time, I cannot remember all 
the language used. Some particular words and forms 
of expression I do remember, and those I give ; and in 
other cases I give my recollection of the substance of 
what was said. 

" There was something awful to me in the intensity 
of repressed emotion which she showed as she pro- 
ceeded. The great fact upon which all turned was 
stated in words that were unmistakable." 

Mrs. Stowe goes on to give minutely Lady Byron's 
conversation, and concludes by saying : — 

Of course I did not listen to this story as one who 
was investigating its worth. I received it as truth, and 
the purpose for which it was communicated was not to 


enable me to prove it to the world, but to ask my 
opinion whether she should show it to the world before 
leaving it. The whole consultation was upon the as- 
sumption that she had at her command such proofs as 
could not be questioned. Concerning what they were 
I did not minutely inquire, only, in answer to a general 
question, she said that she had letters and documents 
in proof of her story. Knowing Lady Byron's strength 
of mind, her clear-headedness, her accurate habits, and 
her perfect knowledge of the matter, I considered her 
judgment on this point decisive. I told her that I 
would take the subject into consideration and give my 
opinion in a few days. That night, after my sister and 
myself had retired to our own apartment, I related to 
her the whole history, and we spent the night in talk- 
ing it over. I was powerfully impressed with the jus- 
tice and propriety of an immediate disclosure ; while 
she, on the contrary, represented the fatal consequences 
that would probably come upon Lady Byron from tak- 
ing such a step. 

Before we parted the next day, I requested Lady 
Byron to give me some memoranda of such dates and 
outlines of the general story as would enable me better 
to keep it in its connection, which she did. On giving 
me the paper, Lady Byron requested me to return it to 
her when it had ceased to be of use to me for the pur- 
pose intended. Accordingly, a day or two after, I in- 
closed it to her in a hasty note, as I was then leaving 
London for Paris, and had not yet had time fully to 
consider the subject. On reviewing my note I can re- 
call that then the whole history appeared to me like one 
of those singular cases where unnatural impulses to 


vice are the result of a taint of constitutional insanity. 
This has always seemed to me the only way of account- 
ing for instances of utterly motiveless and abnormal 
wickedness and cruelty. These, my first impressions, 
were expressed in the hasty note written at the time : 

London, November 5, 1856. 

Dearest Friend, — I return these. They have held 
mine eyes waking. How strange ! How unaccounta- 
ble ! Have you ever subjected the facts to the judg- 
ment of a medical man, learned in nervous pathology ? 
Is it not insanity? 

" Great wits to madness nearly are allied, 
And thin partitions do their bounds divide." 

But my purpose to-night is not to write to you fully 
what I think of this matter. I am going to write to 
you from Paris more at leisure. 

(The rest of the letter was taken up in the final 
details of a charity in which Lady Byron had been 
engaged with me in assisting an unfortunate artist. It 
concludes thus :) 

I write now in all haste, en route for Paris. As to 
America, all is not lost yet. Farewell. I love you, my 
dear friend, as never before, with an intense feeling that 
I cannot easily express. God bless you. 

H. B. S. 

The next letter is as follows : — 

Paris, December 17, 1856. 

Dear Lady Byron, — The Kansas Committee have 

written me a letter desiring me to express to Miss 

their gratitude for the five pounds she sent them. I 


am not personally acquainted with her, and must return 
these acknowledgments through you. 

I wrote you a day or two since, inclosing the reply 
of the Kansas Committee to you. 

On that subject on which you spoke to me the last 
time we were together, I have thought often and 
deeply. I have changed my mind somewhat. Consid- 
ering the peculiar circumstances of the case, I could 
wish that the sacred veil of silence, so bravely thrown 
over the past, should never be withdrawn during the 
time that you remain with us. I would say then, leave 
all with some discreet friends, who, after both have 
passed from earth, shall say what was due to justice. 
I am led to think this by seeing how low, how un- 
worthy, the judgments of this world are ; and I would 
not that what I so much respect, love, and revere should 
be placed within reach of its harpy claw, which pollutes 
what it touches. The day will yet come which will 
bring to light every hidden thing. " There is nothing 
covered that shall not be revealed, neither hid that 
shall not be known ; " and so justice will not fail. 

Such, my dear friend, are my thoughts ; different 
from what they were since first I heard that strange, 
sad history. Meanwhile I love you forever, whether 
we meet again on earth or not. 

Affectionately yours, H. B. S. 

Before her article appeared in print, Mrs. Stowe 
addressed the following letter to Dr. Holmes in Bos- 
ton: — 


Hartford, June 26, J.869. 

Dear Doctor, — I am going to ask help of you, 
and I feel that confidence in your friendship that leads 
me to be glad that I have a friend like you to ask 
advice of. In order that you may understand fully 
what it is, I must go back some years and tell you 
about it. 

When I went to England the first time, I formed a 
friendship with Lady Byron which led to a somewhat 
interesting correspondence. When there the second 
time, after the publication of " Dred " in 1856, Lady 
Byron wrote to me that she wished to have some pri- 
vate confidential conversation with me, and invited me 
to come spend a day with her at her country-seat near 
London. I went, met her alone, and spent an after- 
noon with her. The object of the visit she then 
explained to me. She was in such a state of health 
that she considered she had very little time to live, and 
was engaged in those duties and reviews which every 
thoughtful person finds who is coming deliberately, and 
with their eyes open, to the boundaries of this mortal 

Lady Byron, as you must perceive, has all her life 
lived under a weight of slanders and false imputations 
laid upon her by her husband. Her own side of the 
story has been told only to that small circle of confi- 
dential friends who needed to know it in order to assist 
her in meeting the exigencies which it imposed on her. 
Of course it has thrown the sympathy mostly on his 
side, since the world generally has more sympathy with 
impulsive incorrectness than with strict justice. 

At that time there was a cheap edition of Byron's 


works in contemplation, meant to bring them into cir- 
culation among the masses, and the pathos arising from 
the story of his domestic misfortunes was one great 
means relied on for giving it currency. 

Under these circumstances some of Lady Byron's 
friends had proposed the question to her whether she 
had not a responsibility to society for the truth ; 
whether she did right to allow these persons to gain 
influence over the popular mind by a silent consent to 
an utter falsehood. As her whole life had been passed 
in the most heroic self-abnegation and self sacrifice, the 
question was now proposed to her whether one more 
act of self-denial was not required of her, namely, to 
declare the truth, no matter at what expense to her 
own feelings. 

For this purpose she told me she wished to recount 
the whole story to a person in whom she had confi- 
dence, — a person of another country, and out of the 
whole sphere of personal and local feelings which 
might be supposed to influence those in the country 
and station in life where the events really happened, — 
in order that I might judge whether anything more was 
required of her in relation to this history. 

The interview had almost the solemnity of a death- 
bed confession, and Lady Byron told me the history 
which I have embodied in an article to appear in the 
"Atlantic Monthly." I have been induced to pre- 
pare it by the run which the Guiccioli book is having, 
which is from first to last an unsparing attack on 
Lady Byron's memory by Lord Byron's mistress. 

When you have read my article, I want, not your 
advice as to whether the main facts shall be told, for on 


this point I am so resolved that I frankly say advice 
would do me no good. But you might help me, with 
your delicacy and insight, to make the manner of tell- 
ing more perfect, and I want to do it as wisely and 
well as such story can be told. 

My post-office address after July 1st will be West- 
port Point, Bristol Co., Mass., care of Mrs. I. M. 
Soule. The proof-sheets will be sent you by the pub- 
lisher. Very truly yours, 

H. B. Stowe. 

In reply to the storm of controversy aroused by the 
publication of this article, Mrs. Stowe made a more 
extended effort to justify the charges which she had 
brought against Lord Byron, in a work published in 
1869, "Lady Byron Vindicated." Immediately after 
the publication of this work, she mailed a copy to Dr. 
Oliver Wendell Holmes, accompanied by the following 
note : — 

Boston, May 19, 1869. 
Dear Doctor, — . . . In writing this book, which I 
now take the liberty of sending to you, I have been in 
. . . a " critical place." It has been a strange, weird sort 
of experience, and I have had not a word to say to 
anybody, though often thinking of you and wishing I 
could have a little of your help and sympathy in get- 
ting out what I saw. I think of you very much, and 
rejoice to see the hold your works get on England as 
well as this country, and I would give more for your 
opinion than that of most folks. How often I have 
pondered your last letter to me, and sent it to many 


(friends) ! God bless you. Please accept for yourself 
and your good wife, this copy. 

From yours truly, H. B. Stowe. 

Mrs. Stowe also published in 1870, through Sampson 
Low & Son, of London, a volume for English readers, 
"The History of the Byron Controversy." These 
additional volumes, however, do not seem to have satis- 
fied the public as a whole, and perhaps the expediency 
of the publication of Mrs. Stowe's first article is doubt- 
ful, even to her most ardent admirers. The most that 
can be hoped for, through the mention of the subject 
in this biography, is the vindication of Mrs. Stowe's 
purity of motive and nobility of intention in bringing 
this painful matter into notice. 

While she was being on all hands effectively, and evi- 
dently in some quarters with rare satisfaction, roundly 
abused for the article, and her consequent responsibil- 
ity in bringing this unsavory discussion so prominently 
before the public mind, she received the following let- 
ter from Dr. 0. W. Holmes : — 

Boston, September 25, 1869. 

My dear Mrs. Stowe, — I have been meaning to 
write to you for some time, but in the midst of all the 
wild and virulent talk about the article in the " Atlan- 
tic," I felt as if there was little to say until the first 
fury of the storm had blown over. 

I think that we all perceive now that the battle is 
not to be fought here, but in England. I have listened 
to a good deal of talk, always taking your side in a 
quiet way, backed very heartily on one occasion by one 


of my most intellectual friends, reading all that came 
in my way, and watching the course of opinion. And 
first, it was to be expected that the Guiccioli fanciers 
would resent any attack on Lord Byron, and would 
highly relish the opportunity of abusing one who, like 
yourself, had been identified with all those moral enter- 
prises which elevate the standard of humanity at large, 
and of womanhood in particular. After this scum had 
worked- itself off, there must necessarily follow a con- 
troversy, none the less sharp and bitter, but not depend- 
ing essentially on abuse. The first point the recusants 
got hold of was the error of the two years which con- 
trived to run the gauntlet of so many pairs of eyes. 
Some of them were made happy by mouthing and 
shaking this between their teeth, as a poodle tears 
round with a glove. This did not last long. No sen- 
sible person could believe for a moment you were mis- 
taken in the essential character of a statement every 
word of which would fall on the ear of a listening 
friend like a drop of melted lead, and burn its scar deep 
into the memory. That Lady Byron believed and told 
you the story will not be questioned by any but fools 
and mahVnants. Whether her belief was well founded 
there may be positive evidence in existence to show 
affirmatively. The fact that her statement is not per- 
emptorily contradicted by those most likely to be ac- 
quainted with the facts of the case, is the one result 
so far which is forcing itself into unwilling recogni- 
tion. I have seen nothing, in the various hypotheses 
brought forward, which did not to me involve a greater 
improbability than the presumption of guilt. Take 
that, for witness, that Byron accused himself, through a 


spirit of perverse vanity, of crimes he had not com- 
mitted. How preposterous ! He would stain the name 
of a sister, whom, on the supposition of his innocence, 
he loved with angelic ardor as well as purity, by associ- 
ating it with such an infamous accusation. Suppose 
there are some anomalies hard to explain in Lady 
Byron's conduct. Could a young and guileless woman, 
in the hands of such a man, be expected to act in any 
given way, or would she not be likely to waver, to 
doubt, to hope, to contradict herself, in the anomalous 
position in which, without experience, she found her- 

As to the intrinsic evidence contained in the poems, 
I think it confirms rather than contradicts the hypoth- 
esis of guilt. I do not think that Butler's argument, 
and all the other attempts at invalidation of the story, 
avail much in the face of the acknowledged fact that it 
was told to various competent and honest witnesses, and 
remains without a satisfactory answer from those most 

I know your firm self-reliance, and your courage to 
proclaim the truth when any good end is to be served 
by it. It is to be expected that public opinion will be 
more or less divided as to the expediency of this revela- 
tion. . . . 

Hoping that you have recovered from your indisposi- 
tion, I am Faithfully yours, 

0. W. Holmes. 

While undergoing the most unsparing and pitiless 
criticism and brutal insult, Mrs. Stowe received the 
following sympathetic words from Mrs. Lewes (George 
Eliot) : — * 


The Priory, 21 North Bank, December 10, 1869. 

My dear Friend, — ... In the midst of your 
trouble I was often thinking of you, for I feared that 
you were undergoing a considerable trial from the harsh 
and unfair judgments, partly the fruit of hostility glad 
to find an opportunity for venting itself, and partly of 
that unthinking cruelty which belongs to hasty anony- 
mous journalism. For my own part, I should have pre- 
ferred that the Byron question should never have been 
brought before the public, because I think the discus- 
sion of such subjects is injurious socially. But with 
regard to yourself, dear friend, I feel sure that, in act- 
ing on a different basis of impressions, you were im- 
pelled by pure, generous feeling. Do not think that I 
would have written to you of this point to express a 
judgment. I am anxious only to convey to you a sense 
of my sympathy and confidence, such as a kiss and a 
pressure of the hand could give if I were near you. 

I trust that I shall hear a good account of Professor 
Stowe's health, as well as your own, whenever you have 
time to write me a word or two. I shall not be so un- 
reasonable as to expect a long letter, for the hours of 
needful rest from writing become more and more pre- 
cious as the years go on, but some brief news of you 
and yours will be especially welcome just now. Mr. 
Lewes unites with me in high regards to your husband 
and yourself, but in addition to that I have the sister 
woman's privilege of saying that I am always 

Your affectionate friend, M. H. Lewes. 



Correspondence with George Eliot. — George Eliot's First Im- 
pressions of Mrs. Stowe. — Mrs. Stowe's Letter to Mrs. 
Follen. — George Eliot's Letter to Mrs. Stowe. — Mrs. 
Stowe's Reply. — Life in Florida. — Robert Dale Owen and 
Modern Spiritualism. — George Eliot's Letter on the Phe- 
nomena of Spiritualism. — Mrs. Stowe's Description of 
Scenery in Florida. — Mrs. Stowe concerning " Middle- 
march." — George Eliot to Mrs. Stowe during Rev. H. W. 
Beecher's Trial. — Mrs. Stowe concerning her Life Ex- 
perience with her Brother, H. W. Beecher, and his Trial. — 
Mrs. Lewes' Last Letter to Mrs. Stowe. — Diverse Mental 
Characteristics of these Two Women. — Mrs. Stowe's Final 
Estimate of Modern Spiritualism. 

It is with a feeling of relief that we turn from one of 
the most disagreeable experiences of Mrs. Stowe's life 
to one of the most delightful, namely, the warm friend- 
ship of one of the most eminent women of this age, 
George Eliot. 

There seems to have been some deep affinity of feel- 
ing that drew them closely together in spite of diversity 
of intellectual tastes. 

George Eliot's attention was first personally attracted 
to Mrs. Stowe in 1853, by means of a letter which the 
latter had written to Mrs. Follen. Speaking of this 
incident she (George Eliot) writes : " Mrs. Follen 
showed me a delightful letter which she has just had 
from Mrs. Stowe, telling all about herself. She begins 


by saying, * I am a little bit of a woman, rather more 
than forty, as withered and dry as a pinch of snuff ; 
never very well worth looking at in my best days, and 
now a decidedly used-up article/ The whole letter is 
most fascinating, and makes one love her." ) 

The correspondence between these two notable wo- 
men was begun by Mrs. Stowe, and called forth the 
following extremely interesting letter from the distin- 
guished English novelist : — 

The Priory, 21 North Bank, May 8, 1869. 

My dear Friend, — I value very highly the warrant 
to call you friend which your letter has given me. It 
lay awaiting me on our return the other night from a 
nine weeks' absence in Italy, and it made me almost 
wish that you could have a momentary vision of the dis- 
couragement, — nay, paralyzing despondency — in which 
many days of my writing life have been passed, in order 
that you might fully understand the good I find in 
such sympathy as yours, in such an assurance as you 
give me that my work has been worth doing. But I 
will not dwell on any mental sickness of mine. The 
best joy your words give me is the sense of that sweet, 
generous feeling in you which dictated them. I shall 
always be the richer because you have in this way made 
me know you better. I must tell you that my first 
glimpse of you as a woman came through a letter of 
yours, and charmed me very much. The letter was ad- 
dressed to Mrs. Follen, and one morning I called on 
her in London (how many years ago !) ; she was kind 
enough to read it to me, because it contained a little 

1 George Eliot's Life, edited by J. W. Cross, vol. i. 


history of your life, and a sketch of your domestic 
circumstances. I remember thinking that it was very 
kind of you to write that long letter, in reply to in- 
quiries of one who was personally unknown to you ; 
and, looking back with my present experience, I think 
it was kinder than it then appeared, for at that time 
you must have been much oppressed with the immediate 
results of your fame. I remember, too, that you wrote 
of your husband as one who was richer in Hebrew and 
Greek than in pounds or shillings ; and as an ardent 
scholar has always been a character of peculiar interest 
to me, I have rarely had your image in my mind with- 
out the accompanying image (more or less erroneous) of 
such a scholar by your side. I shall welcome the fruit 
of his Goethe studies, whenever it comes. 

I have good hopes that your fears are groundless as 
to the obstacles your new book (" Oldtown Folks ") may 
find here from its thorough American character. Most 
readers who are likely to be really influenced by writing 
above the common order will find that special aspect 
an added reason for interest and study ; and I dare say 
you have long seen, as I am beginning to see with new 
clearness, that if a book which has any sort of exquis- 
iteness happens also to be a popular, widely circulated 
book, the power over the social mind for any good is, 
after all, due to its reception by a few appreciative na- 
tures, and is the slow result of radiation from that nar- 
row circle. I mean that you can affect a few souls, and 
that each of these in turn may affect a few more, but 
that no exquisite book tells properly and directly on a 
multitude, however largely it may be spread by type and 
paper. Witness the things the multitude will say about 


it, if one is so unhappy as to be obliged to hear their 
sayings. I do not write this cynically, but in pure sad- 
ness and pity. Both traveling abroad and staying at 
home among our English sights and sports, one must 
continually feel how slowly the centuries work toward 
the moral good of men, and that thought lies very close 
to what you say as to your wonder or conjecture con- 
cerning my religious point of view. I believe that 
religion, too, has to be modified according to the domi- 
nant phases ; that a religion more perfect than any yet 
prevalent must express less care of personal consolation, 
and the more deeply awing sense of responsibility to 
man springing from sympathy with that which of all 
things is most certainly known to us, — the difficulty 
of the human lot. Letters are necessarily narrow and 
fragmentary, and when one writes on wide subjects, are 
likely to create more misunderstanding than illumina- 
tion. But I have little anxiety in writing to you, dear 
friend and fellow-laborer ; for you have had longer 
experience than I as a writer, and fuller experience as 
a woman, since you have borne children and known a 
mother's history from the beginning. I trust your 
quick and long-taught mind as an interpreter little 
liable to mistake me. 

When you say, " We five in an orange grove, and are 
planting many more," and when I think you must have 
abundant family love to cheer you, it seems to me that 
you must have a paradise about you. But no list of 
circumstances will make a paradise. Nevertheless, I 
must believe that the joyous, tender humor of your 
books clings about your more immediate life, and 
makes some of that sunshine for yourself which you 


have given to us. I see the advertisement of " Old- 
town Folks," and shall eagerly expect it. That and 
every other new link between us will be reverentially 
valued. With great devotion and regard, 

Yours always, M. L. Lewes. 

Mrs. Stowe writes from Mandarin to George Eliot : — 

Mandarin, February 8, 1872. 

Dear Friend, — It is two years nearly since I had 
your last very kind letter, and I have never answered, 
because two years of constant and severe work have 
made it impossible to give a drop to anything beyond 
the needs of the hour. Yet I have always thought of 
you, loved you, trusted you all the same, and read 
every little scrap from your writing that came to hand. 

One thing brings you back to me. I am now in 
Florida in my little hut in the orange orchard, with the 
broad expanse of the blue St. John's in front, and the 
waving of the live-oaks, with their long, gray mosses, 
overhead, and the bright gold of oranges looking 
through dusky leaves around. It is like Sorrento, — so 
like that I can quite dream of being there. And when 
I get here I enter another life. The world recedes ; I 
am out of it ; it ceases to influence ; its bustle and noise 
die away in the far distance ; and here is no winter, an 
open-air life, — a quaint, rude, wild wilderness sort of 
life, both rude and rich ; but when I am here I write 
more letters to friends than ever I do elsewhere. The 
mail comes only twice a week, and then is the event of 
the day. My old rabbi and I here set up our tent, he 
with German, and Greek, and Hebrew, devouring all 


sorts of black-letter books, and I spinning ideal webs 
out of bits tbat he lets fall here and there. 

I have long thought that I would write you again 
when I got here, and so I do. I have sent North to 
have them send me the " Harper's Weekly," in which 
your new story is appearing, and have promised myself 
leisurely to devour and absorb every word of it. 

While I think of it I want to introduce to you a 
friend of mine, a most noble man, Mr. Owen, for some 
years our ambassador at Naples, now living a literary 
and scholar life in America. His father was Robert 
Dale Owen, the theorist and communist you may have 
heard of in England some years since. 

Years ago, in Naples, I visited Mr. Owen for the 
first time, and found, him directing his attention to the 
phenomena of spiritism. He had stumbled upon some 
singular instances of it accidentally, and he had forth- 
with instituted a series of researches and experiments 
on the subject, some of which he showed me. It was 
the first time I had ever seriously thought of the mat- 
ter, and he invited my sister and myself to see some of 
the phenomena as exhibited by a medium friend of 
theirs who resided in their family. The result at the 
time was sufficiently curious, but I was interested in his 
account of the manner in which he proceeded, keeping 
records of every experiment with its results, in classified 
orders. As the result of his studies and observations, 
he has published two books, one " Footfalls on the 
Boundary of Another World," published in 1860, and 
latterly, " The Debatable Land Between this World and 
the Next." I regard Mr. Owen as one of the few men 
who are capable of entering into an inquiry of this 


kind without an utter drowning of common sense, and 
his books are both of them worth a fair reading. To 
me they present a great deal that is intensely curious and 
interesting, although I do not admit, of course, all his 
deductions, and think he often takes too much for 
granted. Still, with every abatement there remains a 
residuum of fact, which I think both curious and useful. 
In a late letter to me he says : — 

"There is no writer of the present day whom I 
more esteem than Mrs. Lewes, nor any one whose opin- 
ion of my work I should more highly value." 

I believe he intends sending them to you, and I hope 
you will read them. Lest some of the narratives should 
strike you, as such narratives did me once, as being a 
perfect Arabian Nights' Entertainment, I want to say 
that I have accidentally been in the way of confirming 
some of the most remarkable by personal observation. 
... In regard to all this class of subjects, I am of the 
opinion of Goethe, that " it is just as absurd to deny 
the facts of spiritualism now as it was in the Middle 
Ages to ascribe them to the Devil." I think Mr. 
Owen attributes too much value to his facts. I do not 
think the things contributed from the ultra-mundane 
sphere are particularly valuable, apart from the evi- 
dence they give of continued existence after death. 

I do not think there is yet any evidence to warrant 
the idea that they are a supplement or continuation of 
the revelations of Christianity, but I do regard them as 
an interesting and curious study in psychology, and every 
careful observer like Mr. Owen ought to be welcomed 
to bring in his facts. With this I shall send you my 
observations on Mr. Owen's books, from the " Christian 


Union." I am perfectly aware of the frivolity and 
worthlessness of much of the revealings purporting to 
come from spirits. In my view, the worth or worth- 
lessness of them has nothing to do with the question of 

Do invisible spirits speak in any wise, — wise or fool- 
ish ? — is the question a priori. I do not know of any 
reason why there should not be as many foolish virgins 
in the future state as in this. As I am a believer in 
the Bible and Christianity, I don't need these things as 
confirmations, and they are not likely to be a religion 
to me. I regard them simply as I do the phenomena 
of the Aurora Borealis, or Darwin's studies on natural 
selection, as curious studies into nature. Besides, I 
think some day we shall find a law by which all these 
facts will fall into their places. 

I hope now this subject does not bore you : it cer- 
tainly is one that seems increasingly to insist on getting 
itself heard. It is going on and on, making converts, 
who are many more than dare avow themselves, and 
for my part I wish it were all brought into the daylight 
of inquiry. 

Let me hear from you if ever you feel like it. I know 
too well the possibilities and impossibilities of a nature 
like yours to ask more, but it can do you no harm to 
know that I still think of you and love you as ever. 
Faithfully yours, H. B. Stowe. 

The Priory, 21 North Bank, Regent's Park, March 4, 1872. 

Dear Friend, — I can understand very easily that 

the two last years have been full for you of other and 

more imperative work than the writing of letters not 


absolutely demanded either by charity or business. 
The proof that you still think of me affectionately is 
very welcome now it has come, and more cheering be- 
cause it enables me to think of you as enjoying your 
retreat in your orange orchard, — your western Sorrento 
— the beloved rabbi still beside you. I am sure it 
must be a great blessing to you to bathe in that qui- 
etude, as it always is to us when we go out of reach of 
London influences and have the large space of country 
days to study, walk, and talk in. . . . 

When I am more at liberty I will certainly read Mr. 
Owen's books, if he is good enough to send them to 
me. I desire on all subjects to keep an open mind, but 
hitherto the various phenomena, reported or attested in 
connection with ideas of spirit intercourse and so on, 
have come before me here in the painful form of the 
lowest charlatanerie. . . . 

But apart from personal contact with people who get 
money by public exhibitions as mediums, or with semi- 
idiots such as those who make a court for a Mrs. , 

or other feminine personages of that kind, I would not 
willingly place any barriers between my mind and any 
possible channel of truth affecting the human lot. The 
spirit in which you have written in the paper you kindly 
sent me is likely to touch others, and arouse them at 
least to attention in a case where you have been deeply 
impressed. . . . 

Yours with sincere affection, 

M. L. Lewes. 


(Began April 4th.) 

Mandarin, Florida, May 11, 1872. 

My dear Friend, — I was very glad to get your 
dear little note, — sorry to see by it that you are not in 
your full physical force. Owing to the awkwardness 
and misunderstanding of publishers, I am not reading 
" Middlemarch," as I expected to be, here in these 
orange shades: they don't send it, and I am too far 
out of the world to get it. I felt, when I read your 
letters, how glad I should be to have you here in our 
Florida cottage, in the wholly new, wild, woodland life. 
Though resembling Italy in climate, it is wholly dif- 
ferent in the appearance of nature, — the plants, the 
birds, the animals, all different. The green tidiness 
and culture of England here gives way to a wild and 
rugged savageness of beauty. Every tree bursts forth 
with flowers ; wild vines and creepers execute delirious 
gambols, and weave and interweave in interminable 
labyrinths. Yet here, in the great sandy plains back 
of our house, there is a constant wondering sense of 
beauty in the wild, wonderful growths of nature. First 
of all, the pines — high as the stone pines of Italy — 
with long leaves, eighteen inches long, through which 
there is a constant dreamy sound, as if of dashing 
waters. Then the live-oaks and the water-oaks, nar- 
row-leaved evergreens, which grow to enormous size, 
and whose branches are draped with long festoons of 
the gray moss. There is a great, wild park of these 
trees back of us, which, with the dazzling, varnished 
green of the new spring leaves and the swaying drapery 
of moss, looks like a sort of enchanted grotto. Un- 
derneath grow up hollies and ornamental flowering 


shrubs, and the yellow jessamine climbs into and over 
everything with fragrant golden bells and buds, so that 
sometimes the foliage of a tree is wholly hidden in its 

This wild, wonderful, bright and vivid growth, that 
is all new, strange, and unknown by name to me, has 
a charm for me. It is the place to forget the outside 
world, and live in one's self. And if you were here, 
we would go together and gather azaleas, and white 
lilies, and silver bells, and blue iris. These flowers keep 
me painting in a sort of madness. I have just finished 
a picture of white lilies that grow in the moist land by 
the watercourses. I am longing to begin on blue iris. 
Artist, poet, as you are by nature, you ought to see all 
these things, and if you would come here I would take 
you in heart and house, and you should have a little 
room in our cottage. The history of the cottage is this : 
I found a hut built close to a great live-oak twenty- 
five feet in girth, and with overarching boughs eighty 
feet up in the air, spreading like a firmament, and all 
swaying with mossy festoons. We began to live here, 
and gradually we improved the hut by lath, plaster, and 
paper. Then we threw out a wide veranda all round, 
for in these regions the veranda is the living-room of 
the house. Ours had to be built around the trunk of 
the tree, so that our cottage has a peculiar and original 
air, and seems as if it were half tree, or a something that 
had grown out of the tree. We added on parts, and 
have thrown out gables and chambers, as a tree throws 
out new branches, till our cottage is like nobody else's, 
and yet we settle into it with real enjoyment. There 
are all sorts of queer little rooms in it, and we are 


accommodating at this present a family of seventeen 
souls. In front, the beautiful, grand St. John's stretches 
five miles from shore to shore, and we watch the steam- 
boats plying back and forth to the great world we are 
out of. On all sides, large orange trees, with their 
dense shade and ever-vivid green, shut out the sun so 
that we can sit, and walk, and live in the open air. 
Our winter here is only cool, bracing out-door weather, 
without snow. No month without flowers blooming in 
the open air, and lettuce and peas in the garden. The 
summer range is about 90°, but the sea-breezes keep 
the air delightfully fresh. Generally we go North, 
however, for three months of summer. Well, I did not 
mean to run on about Florida, but the subject runs 
away with me, and I want you to visit us in spirit if 
not personally. 

My poor rabbi ! — he sends you some Arabic, which 
I fear you cannot read : on diablerie he is up to his 
ears in knowledge, having read all things in all tongues, 
from the Talmud down. . . . 

Ever lovingly yours, H. B. Stowe. 

Boston, September 26, 1872. 

My dear Friend, — I think when you see my name 
again so soon, you will think it rains, hails, and snows 
notes from this quarter. Just now, however, I am in 
this lovely, little nest in Boston; where dear Mrs. Field, 
like a dove, " sits brooding on the charmed wave." We 
are both wishing we had you here with us, and she has 
not received any answer from you as yet in reply to 
the invitation you spoke of in your last letter to me. 
It seems as if you must have written, and the letter 



somehow gone astray, because I know, of course, you 
would write. Yesterday we were both out of our senses 
with mingled pity and indignation at that dreadful 
stick of a Casaubon, — and think of poor Dorothea 
dashing like a warm, sunny wave against so cold and 
repulsive a rock ! He is a little too dreadful for any- 
thing : there does not seem to be a drop of warm blood 
in him, and so, as it is his misfortune and not his fault, 
to be cold-blooded, one must not get angry with him. 
It is the scene in the garden, after the interview with 
the doctor, that rests on our mind at this present. 
There was such a man as he over in Boston, high in 
literary circles, but I fancy his wife was n't like Doro- 
thea, and a vastly proper time they had of it, treating 
each other with mutual reverence, like two Chinese 

My love, what I miss in this story is just what we 
would have if you would come to our tumble-down, 
jolly, improper, but joyous country, — namely, u jolli- 
tude." You write and live on so high a plane ! It is 
all self-abnegation. We want to get you over here, 
and into this house, where, with closed doors, we some- 
times make the rafters ring with fun, and say anything 
and everything, no matter what, and won't be any 
properer than we 's a mind to be. I am wishing every 
day you could see our America, — travel, as I have been 
doing, from one bright, thriving, pretty, flowery town 
to another, and see so much wealth, ease, progress, cul- 
ture, and all sorts of nice things. This dovecot where 
I now am is the sweetest little nest imaginable ; front- 
ing on a city street, with back windows opening on a 
sea view, with still, quiet rooms filled with books, pic- 


tures, and all sorts of things, such as you and Mr. Lewes 
would enjoy. Don't be afraid of the ocean, now ! I 've 
crossed it six times, and assure you it is an overrated 
item. Froude is coming here — why not you ? Be- 
sides, we have the fountain of eternal youth here, that 
is, in Florida, where I live, and if you should come you 
would both of you take a new lease of life, and what 
glorious poems, and philosophies, and whatnot, we 
should have 1 My rabbi writes, in the seventh heaven, 
an account of your note to him. To think of his set- 
ting-off on his own account when I was away 1 

Come now, since your answer to dear Mrs. Fields is 
yet to come ; let it be a glad yes, and we will clasp you 
to our heart of hearts. 

Your ever loving, H. B. S. 

During the summer of 1874, while Mrs. Stowe's 
brother, the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, was the victim 
of a most revolting, malicious, and groundless attack 
on his purity, Mrs. Lewes wrote the following words of 
sympathy : — 

My dear Friend, — The other day I had a letter 
from Mrs. Fields, written to let me know something of 
you under that heavy trouble, of which such informa- 
tion as I have had has been quite untrustworthy, leav- 
ing me in entire incredulity in regard to it except on 
this point, that you and yours must be suffering deeply. 
Naturally I thought most of you in the matter (its pub- 
lic aspects being indeterminate), and many times before 
our friend's letter came I had said to Mr. Lewes: 
" What must Mrs. Stowe be feeling ! " I remember 


Mrs. Fields once told me of the wonderful courage and 
cheerfulness which belonged to you, enabling you to 
bear up under exceptional trials, and I imagined you 
helping the sufferers with tenderness and counsel, but 
yet, nevertheless, I felt that there must be a bruising 
weight on your heart. Dear, honored friend, you who 
are so ready to give warm fellowship, is it any comfort 
to you to be told that those afar off are caring for you 
in spirit, and will be happier for all good issues that 
may bring you rest ? 

I cannot, dare not, write more in my ignorance, lest I 
should be using unreasonable words. But I trust in 
your not despising this scrap of paper which tells you, 
perhaps rather for my relief than yours, that I am 
always in grateful, sweet remembrance of your goodness 
to me and your energetic labors for all. 

It was two years or more before Mrs. Stowe replied 
to these words of sympathy. 

Orange-blossom time, Mandarin, March 18, 1876. 

My dear Friend, — I always think of you when 
the orange trees are in blossom ; just now they are 
fuller than ever, and so many bees are filling the 
branches that the air is full of a sort of still murmur. 
And now I am beginning to hear from you every 
month in Harper's. It is as good as a letter. " Daniel 
Deronda " has succeeded in awaking in my somewhat 
worn-out mind an interest. So many stories are tramp- 
ing over one's mind in every modern magazine nowa- 
days that one is macadamized, so to speak. It takes 
something unusual to make a sensation. This does 


excite and interest me, as I wait for each number with 
eagerness. I wish I could endow you with our long 
winter weather, — not winter, except such as you find 
in Sicily. We live here from November to June, and 
my husband sits outdoors on the veranda and reads 
all day. We emigrate in solid family : my two dear 
daughters, husband, self, and servants come together 
to spend the winter here, and so together to our North- 
ern home in summer. My twin daughters relieve me 
from all domestic care ; they are lively, vivacious, with a 
real genius for practical life. We have around us a lit- 
tle settlement of neighbors, who like ourselves have a 
winter home here, and live an easy, undress, picnic kind 
of life, far from the world and its cares. Mr. Stowe 
has been busy on eight volumes of Gorres on the mys- 
ticism of the Middle Ages. 1 This Gorres was Professor 
of Philosophy at Munich, and he reviews the whole 
ground of the shadow-land between the natural and 
the supernatural, — ecstacy, trance, prophecy, miracles, 
spiritualism, the stigmata, etc. He was a devout Roman 
Catholic, and the so-called facts that he reasons on 
seem to me quite amazing ; and yet the possibilities that 
lie between inert matter and man's living, all-powerful, 
immortal soul may make almost anything credible. 
The soul at times can do anything with matter. I 
have been busying myself with Sainte-Beuve's seven 
volumes on the Port Royal development. I like him 
(Sainte-Beuve). His capacity of seeing, doing justice to 
all kinds of natures and sentiments, is wonderful. I am 
sorry he is no longer our side the veil. 

There is a redbird (cardinal grosbeak) singing in 

1 Die Christliche Mysiik. 


the orange trees fronting my window, so sweetly and 
insistently as to almost stop my writing. I hope, dear 
friend, you are well — better than when you wrote last. 

It was very sweet and kind of you to write what you 
did last. I suppose it is so long ago you may have for- 
gotten, but it was a word of tenderness and sympathy 
about my brother's trial ; it was womanly, tender, and 
sweet, such as at heart you are. After all, my love of 
you is greater than my admiration, for I think it more 
and better to be really a woman worth loving than to 
have read Greek and German and written books. And 
in this last book I read, I feel more with you in some 
little, fine points, — they stare at me as making an 
amusing exhibition. For, my dear, I feel myself at 
last as one who has been playing and picnicking on the 
shores of life, and waked from a dream late in the 
afternoon to find that everybody almost has gone over 
to the beyond. And the rest are sorting their things 
and packing their trunks, and waiting for the boat to 
come and take them. 

It seems now but a little time since my brother 
Henry and I were two young people together. He 
was my two years junior, and nearest companion out of 
seven brothers and three sisters. I taught him draw- 
ing and heard his Latin lessons, for you know a girl 
becomes mature and womanly long before a boy. I 
saw him through college, and helped him through the 
difficult love affair that gave him his wife ; and then he 
and my husband had a real German, enthusiastic love 
for each other, which ended in making me a wife. 
Ah ! in those days we never dreamed that he, or I, or 
any of us, were to be known in the world. All he 


seemed then was a boy full of fun, full of love, full of 
enthusiasm for protecting abused and righting wronged 
people, which made him in those early days write ed- 
itorials, and wear arms and swear himself a special 
policeman to protect the poor negroes in Cincinnati, 
where we then lived, when there were mobs instigated 
by the slaveholders of Kentucky. 

Then he married, and lived a missionary life in the 
new West, all with a joyousness, an enthusiasm, a chiv- 
alry, which made life bright and vigorous to us both. 
Then in time he was called to Brooklyn, just as the 
crisis of the great anti-slavery battle came on, and the 
Fugitive Slave Law was passed. I was then in Maine, 
and I well remember one snowy night his riding till 
midnight to see me, and then our talking, till near 
morning, what we could do to make headway against 
the horrid cruelties that were being practiced against 
the defenseless blacks. My husband was then away 
lecturing, and my heart was burning itself out in in- 
dignation and anguish. Henry told me then that he 
meant to fight that battle in New York ; that he would 
have a church that would stand by him to resist the 
tyrannic dictation of Southern slaveholders. I said : " I, 
too, have begun to do something ; I have begun a story, 
trying to set forth the sufferings and wrongs of the 
slaves." " That 's right, Hattie," he said ; " finish it, 
and I will scatter it thick as the leaves of Vallambrosa," 
and so came " Uncle Tom," and Plymouth Church be- 
came a stronghold where the slave always found refuge 
and a strong helper. One morning my brother found 
sitting on his doorstep poor old Paul Edmonson, weep- 
ing ; his two daughters, of sixteen and eighteen, had 


passed into the slave warehouse of Bruin & Hill, and 
were to be sold. My brother took the man by the 
hand to a public meeting, told his story for him, and in 
an hour raised the two thousand dollars to redeem his 
children. Over and over again, afterwards, slaves were 
redeemed at Plymouth Church, and Henry and Plym- 
outh Church became words of hatred and fear through 
half the Union. From that time until we talked to- 
gether about the Fugitive Slave Law, there was not a 
pause or stop in the battle till we had been through the 
war and slavery had been wiped out in blood. Through 
all he has been pouring himself out, wrestling, burning, 
laboring everywhere, making stump speeches when 
elections turned on the slave question, and ever main- 
taining that the cause of Christ was the cause of the 
slave. And when all was over, it was he and Lloyd 
Garrison who were sent by government once more to 
raise our national flag on Fort Sumter. You must 
see that a man does not so energize without making 
many enemies. Half of our Union has been defeated, 
a property of millions annihilated by emancipation, a 
proud and powerful slave aristocracy reduced to beg- 
gary, and there are those who never saw our faces that, 
to this hour, hate him and me. Then he has been a 
progressive in theology. He has been a student of 
Huxley, and Spencer, and Darwin, — enough to alarm 
the old school, — and yet remained so ardent a supernat- 
uralist as equally to repel the radical destructionists in 
religion. He and I are Christ-worshippers, adoring 
Him as the Image of the Invisible God and all that 
comes from believing this. Then he has been a re- 
former, an advocate of universal suffrage and woman's 


rights, yet not radical enough to please that reform 
party who stand where the Socialists of France do, and 
are for tearing up all creation generally. Lastly, 
he has had the misfortune of a popularity which is per- 
fectly phenomenal. I cannot give you any idea of the 
love, worship, idolatry, with which he has been over- 
whelmed. He has something magnetic about him that 
makes everybody crave his society, — that makes men 
follow and worship him. I remember being at his 
house one evening in the time of early flowers, and in 
that one evening came a box of flowers from Maine, 
another from New Jersey, another from Connecticut, — 
all from people with whom he had no personal acquaint- 
ance, who had read something of his and wanted to 
send him some token. I said, " One would think you 
were a prima donna. What does make people go on so 
about you ? " 

My brother is hopelessly generous and confiding. 
His inability to believe evil is something incredible, 
and so has come all this suffering. You said you 
hoped I should be at rest when the first investigating 
committee and Plymouth Church cleared my brother 
almost by acclamation. Not so. The enemy have so 
committed themselves that either they or he must die, 
and there has followed two years of the most dreadful 
struggle. First, a legal trial of six months, the ex- 
penses of which on his side were one hundred and 
eighteen thousand dollars, and in which he and his 
brave wife sat side by side in the court-room, and heard 
all that these plotters, who had been weaving their webs 
for three years, could bring. The foreman of the jury 
was offered a bribe of ten thousand dollars to decide 


against my brother. He sent the letter containing the 
proposition to the judge. But with all their plotting, 
three fourths of the jury decided against them, and 
their case was lost. It was accepted as a triumph by 
my brother's friends ; a large number of the most in- 
fluential clergy of all denominations so expressed them- 
selves in a public letter, and it was hoped the thing 
was so far over that it might be lived down and over- 
grown with better things. 

But the enemy, intriguing secretly with all those par- 
ties in the community who wish to put down a public 
and too successful man, have been struggling to 
bring the thing up again for an ecclesiastical trial. The 
cry has been raised in various religious papers that 
Plymouth Church was in complicity with crime, — that 
they were so captivated with eloquence and genius 
that they refused to make competent investigation. 
The six months' legal investigation was insufficient ; a 
new trial was needed. Plymouth Church immediately 
called a council of ministers and laymen, in number 
representing thirty - seven thousand Congregational 
Christians, to whom Plymouth Church surrendered her 
records, — her conduct, — all the facts of the case, and 
this great council unanimously supported the church 
and ratified her decision ; recognizing the fact that, in 
all the investigations hitherto, nothing had been proved 
against my brother. They at his request, and that of 
Plymouth Church, appointed a committee of five to 
whom within sixty days any one should bring any facts 
that they could prove, or else forever after hold their 
peace. It is thought now by my brother's friends that 
this thing must finally reach a close. But you see why 


I have not written. This has drawn on my life — my 
heart's blood. He is myself ; I know you are the 
kind of woman to understand me when I say that I 
felt a blow at him more than at myself. I, who know 
his purity, honor, delicacy, know that he has been 
from childhood of an ideal purity, — who reverenced 
his conscience as his king, whose glory was redressing 
human wrong, who spake no slander, no, nor listened 
to it. 

Never have I known a nature of such strength, and 
such almost childlike innocence. He is of a nature so 
sweet and perfect that, though I have seen him thun- 
derously indignant at moments, I never saw him fretful 
or irritable, — a man who continuously, in every little 
act of life, is thinking of others, a man that all the chil- 
dren on the street run after, and that every sorrowful, 
weak, or distressed person looks to as a natural helper. 
In all this long history there has been no circumstance 
of his relation to any woman that has not been worthy 
of himself, — pure, delicate, and proper ; and I know all 
sides of it, and certainly should not say this if there 
were even a misgiving. Thank God, there is none, and 
I can read my New Testament and feel that by all the 
beatitudes my brother is blessed. 

His calmness, serenity, and cheerfulness through all 
this time has uplifted us all. Where he was, there was 
no anxiety, no sorrow. My brother's power to console 
is something peculiar and wonderful. I have seen him 
at death-beds and funerals, where it would seem as if 
hope herself must be dumb, bring down the very peace 
of Heaven and change despair to trust. He has not 
had less power in his own adversity. You cannot con- 


ceive how he is beloved, by those even who never saw 
him, — old, paralytic, distressed, neglected people, poor 
seamstresses, black people, who have felt these arrows 
shot against their benefactor as against themselves, and 
most touching have been their letters of sympathy. 
From the first, he has met this in the spirit of Francis 
de Sales, who met a similar plot, — by silence, prayer, 
and work, and when urged to defend himself said " God 
would do it in his time." God was the best judge how 
much reputation he needed to serve Him with. 

In your portrait of Deronda, you speak of him as 
one of those rare natures in whom a private wrong 
bred no bitterness. " The sense of injury breeds, not the 
will to inflict injuries, but a hatred of all injury ; " and 
I must say, through all this conflict my brother has been 
always in the spirit of Him who touched and healed 
the ear of Malchus when he himself was attacked. 
His friends and lawyers have sometimes been aroused 
and sometimes indignant with his habitual caring for 
others, and his habit of vindicating and extending even 
to his enemies every scrap and shred of justice that 
might belong to them. From first to last of this trial,, 
he has never for a day intermitted his regular work. 
Preaching to crowded houses, preaching even in his 
short vacations at watering places, carrying on his mis- 
sions which have regenerated two once wretched dis- 
tricts of the city, editing a paper, and in short giving 
himself up to work. He cautioned his church not to 
become absorbed in him and his trials, to prove their 
devotion by more faithful church work and a wider 
charity ; and never have the Plymouth missions among 
the poor been so energetic and effective. He said 


recently, " The worst that can befall a man is to stop 
thinking of God and begin to think of himself ; if 
trials make us self-absorbed, they hurt us." Well? dear, 
pardon me for this outpour. I loved you — I love you 
— and therefore wanted you to know just what I felt. 
Now, dear, this is over, don't think you must reply to it 
or me. I know how much you have to do, — yes, I 
know all about an aching head and an overtaxed brain. 
This last work of yours is to be your best, I think, and 
I hope it will bring you enough to buy an orange grove 
in Sicily, or somewhere else, and so have lovely weather 
such as we have. 

Your ancient admirer, 1 who usually goes to bed at 
eight o'clock, was convicted by me of sitting up after 
eleven over the last installment of "Daniel Deronda," and 
he is full of it. We think well of Guendoline, and that 
she is n't much more than young ladies in general so far. 

Next year, if I can possibly do it, I will send you 
some of our oranges. I perfectly long to have you 
enjoy them. 

Your very loving H. B. Stowe. 

P. S. I am afraid I shall write you again when I am 
reading your writings, they are so provokingly sugges- 
tive of things one wants to say. H. B. S. 

In her reply to this letter Mrs. Lewes says, inciden- 
tally : ' Please offer my reverential love to the Professor, 
and tell him I am ruthlessly proud of having kept him 
out of his bed. I hope that both you and he will con- 
tinue to be interested in my spiritual children." 

1 Professor Stowe. 


After Mr. Lewes's death, Mrs. Lewes writes to Mrs. 

Stowe : — 

The Priory, 21 North Bank, April 10, 1879. 

My dear Friend, — I have been long without send- 
ing you any sign (unless you have received a message 
from me through Mrs. Fields), but my heart has been 
going out to you and your husband continually as 
among the chief of the many kind beings who have 
given me their tender fellow-feeling in my last earthly 
sorrow. . . . When your first letter came, with the beauti- 
ful gift of your book, 1 I was unable to read any letters, 
and did not for a long time see what you had sent me. 
But when I did know, and had read your words of 
thankfulness at the great good you have seen wrought 
by your help, I felt glad, for your sake first, and then 
for the sake of the great nation to which you belong. 
The hopes of the world are taking refuge westward, 
under the calamitous conditions, moral and physical, in 
which we of the elder world are getting involved. . . . 

Thank you for telling me that you have the comfort 
of seeing your son in a path that satisfies your best 
wishes for him. I like to think of your having family 
joys. One of the prettiest photographs of a child that 
I possess is one of your sending to me. . . . 

Please offer my reverential, affectionate regards to 
your husband, and believe me, dear friend, 
Yours always gratefully, 

M. L. Lewes. 

As much as has been said with regard to spiritualism 
in these pages, the subject has by no means the promi- 

1 Uncle Tom's Cabin, new edition, with introduction. 


nence that it really possessed in the studies and conver- 
sations of both Professor and Mrs. Stowe. 

Professor Stowe's very remarkable psychological de- 
velopment, and the exceptional experiences of his early 
life, were sources of conversation of unfailing interest 
and study to both. 

Professor Stowe had made an elaborate and valuable 
collection of the literature of the subject, and was, as 
Mrs. Stowe writes, " over head and ears in diablerie." 

It is only just to give Mrs. Stowe's views on this per- 
plexing theme more at length, and as the mature re- 
flection of many years has caused them to take form. 

In reference to professional mediums, and spirits that 
peep, rap, and mutter, she writes : — 

" Each friend takes away a portion of ourselves. 
There was some part of our being related to him as 
to no other, and we had things to say to him which no 
other would understand or appreciate. A portion of 
our thoughts has become useless and burdensome, and 
again and again, with involuntary yearning, we turn to 
the stone at the door of the sepulchre. We lean 
against the cold, silent marble, but there is no answer, 
— no voice, neither any that regardeth. 

" There are those who would have us think that in 
our day this doom is reversed ; that there are those who 
have the power to restore to us the communion of our 
lost ones. How many a heart, wrung and tortured with 
the anguish of this fearful silence, has throbbed with 
strange, vague hopes at the suggestion ! When we 
hear sometimes of persons of the strongest and clearest 
minds becoming credulous votaries of certain spiritual- 
ist circles, let us not wonder : if we inquire, we shall 


almost always find that the belief has followed some 
stroke of death ; it is only an indication of the desper- 
ation of that heart-hunger which in part it appeases. 

" Ah, were it true ! Were it indeed so that the wall 
between the spiritual and material is growing thin, and 
a new dispensation germinating in which communion 
with the departed blest shall be among the privileges 
and possibilities of this our mortal state ! Ah, were it 
so that when we go forth weeping in the gray dawn, 
bearing spices and odors which we long to pour forth 
for the beloved dead, we should indeed find the stone 
rolled away and an angel sitting on it ! 

" But for us the stone must be rolled away by an un- 
questionable angel, whose countenance is as the light- 
ning, who executes no doubtful juggle by pale moon- 
light or starlight, but rolls back the stone in fair, open 
morning, and sits on it. Then we could bless God for 
his mighty gift, and with love, and awe, and reverence 
take up that blessed fellowship with another life, and 
weave it reverently and trustingly into the web of our 
daily course. 

" But no such angel have we seen, — no such sublime, 
unquestionable, glorious manifestation. And when we 
look at what is offered to us, ah ! who that had a friend 
in heaven could wish them to return in such wise as 
this ? The very instinct of a sacred sorrow seems to 
forbid that our beautiful, our glorified ones should 
stoop lower than even to the medium of their cast-off 
bodies, to juggle, and rap, and squeak, and perform 
mountebank tricks with tables and chairs ; to recite over 
in weary sameness harmless truisms, which we were 
wise enough to say for ourselves ; to trifle, and banter, 


and jest, or to lead us through endless moonshiny mazes. 
Sadly and soberly we say that, if this be communion 
with the dead, we had rather be without it. We want 
something a little in advance of our present life, and 
not below it. We have read with some attention weary 
pages of spiritual communication purporting to come 
from Bacon, Swedenborg, and others, and long ac- 
counts from divers spirits of things seen in the spirit 
land, and we can conceive of no more appalling pros- 
pect than to have them true. 

" If the future life is so weary, stale, flat, and unprofit- 
able as we might infer from these readings, one would 
have reason to deplore an immortality from which no 
suicide could give an outlet. To be condemned to such 
eternal prosing would be worse than annihilation. 

" Is there, then, no satisfaction for this craving of the 
soul ? There is One who says : " I am he that liveth 
and was dead, and behold I am alive for evermore, and 
I have the keys of hell and of death ; " and this same 
being said once before : " He that loveth me shall be 
loved of my Father, and I will love him and will mani- 
fest myself unto him." This is a promise direct and 
personal ; not confined to the first apostles, but stated 
in the most general way as attainable by any one who 
loves and does the will of Jesus. It seems given to us 
as some comfort for the unavoidable heart-breaking 
separations of death that there should be, in that dread 
unknown, one all-powerful Friend with whom it is possi- 
ble to commune, and from whose spirit there may come a 
response to us. Our Elder Brother, the partaker of our 
nature, is not only in the spirit land, but is all-powerful 
there. It is he that shutteth and no man openeth, and 


openeth and no man shutteth. He whom we have seen 
in the flesh, weeping over the grave of Lazarus, is he 
who hath the keys of hell and of death. If we cannot 
commune with our friends, we can at least commune 
with Him to whom they are present, who is intimately 
with them as with us. He is the true bond of union 
between the spirit world and our souls ; and one blest 
hour of prayer, when we draw near to Him and feel the 
breadth, and length, and depth, and heighth of that love 
of his that passeth knowledge, is better than all those 
incoherent, vain, dreamy glimpses with which longing 
hearts are cheated. 

" They who have disbelieved all spiritual truth, who 
have been Sadduceeic doubters of either angel or spirit, 
may find in modern spiritualism a great advance. But 
can one who has ever really had communion with Christ, 
who has said with John, " Truly our fellowship is with 
the Father and the Son," — can such an one be satisfied 
with what is found in the modern circle ? 

" For Christians who have strayed into these inclos- 
ures, we cannot but recommend the homely but apt 
quotation of old John Newton : — 

" ' What think ye of Christ is the test 

To try hoth your word and your scheme.' 

" In all these so-called revelations, have there come any 
echoes of the new song which no man save the redeemed 
from earth could learn ; any unfoldings of that love 
that passeth knowledge, — anything, in short, such as 
spirits might utter to whom was unveiled that which 
eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither hath entered 
the heart of man to conceive ? We must confess that 


all those spirits that yet have spoken appear to be liv- 
ing in quite another sphere from John or Paul. 

" Let us, then, who long for communion with spirits, 
seek nearness to Him who has promised to speak and 
commune, leaving forever this word to his church : — 

" * I will not leave you comfortless. I will come to 
you.' " 


CLOSING SCENES, 1870-1889. 

Literary Labors. — Complete List of Published Books. — First 
Reading Tour. — Peeps Behind the Curtain. — Some New 
England Cities. — A Letter from Maine. — Pleasant and 
Unpleasant Readings. — Second Tour. — A Western Jour- 
ney. — Visit to Old Scenes. — Celebration of Seventieth 
Birthday. — Congratulatory Poems from Mr. Whittier and 
Dr. Holmes. — Last Words. 

Besides the annual journeys to and from Florida, 
and her many interests in the South, Mrs. Stowe's time 
between 1870 and 1880 was largely occupied by lit- 
erary and kindred labors. In the autumn of 1871 we 
find her writing to her daughters as follows regarding 
her work : — 

" I have at last finished all my part in the third book 
of mine that is to come out this year, to wit ' Oldtown 
Fireside Stories/ and you can have no idea what a per- 
fect luxury of rest it is to be free from all literary 
engagements, of all kinds, sorts, or descriptions. I feel 
like a poor woman I once read about, — 

" ' Who always was tired, 
'Cause she lived in a house 
Where help was n't hired,' 

and of whom it is related that in her dying moments, 

" ' She folded her hands 
With her latest endeavor, 
Saying nothing, dear nothing, 
Sweet nothing forever.' 


" I am in about her state of mind. I luxuriate in 
laziness. I do not want to do anything or go any- 
where. I only want to sink down into lazy enjoyment 
of living." 

She was certainly well entitled to a rest, for never 
had there been a more laborious literary life. In addi- 
tion to the twenty-three books already written, she had 
prepared for various magazines and journals an incred- 
ible number of short stories, letters of travel, essays, 
and other articles. Yet with all she had accomplished, 
and tired as she was, she still had seven books to write, 
besides many more short stories, before her work should 
be done. As her literary life did not really begin until 
1852, the bulk of her work has been accomplished 
within twenty-six years, as will be seen from the fol- 
lowing list of her books, arranged in the chronological 
order of their publication : — 

1833. An Elementary Geography. 
1843. The Mayflower. 

1852. Uncle Tom's Cabin. 

1853. Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin. 

1854. Sunny Memories. 
1856. Dred. 

1858. Our Charley. 

1859. Minister's Wooing. 

1862. Pearl of Orr's Island. 

1863. Agnes of Sorrento. 

1864. House and Home Papers. 

1865. Little Foxes. 

1866. Nina Gordon (Formerly " Dred "). 

1867. Religious Poems. 

1867. Queer Little People. 

1868. The Chimney Corner. 

1868. Men of Our Times. 

1869. Oldtown Folks. 

1870. Lady Byron Vindicated. 

1871. The History of the Byron Controversy (London). 


1870. Little Pussy Willow. 

1871. Pink and White Tyranny. 

1871. Old Town Fireside Stories. 

1872. My Wife and I. 

1873. Palmetto Leaves. 

1873. Library of Famous Fiction. 

1875. We and Our Neighbors. 

1876. Betty's Bright Idea. 

1877. Footsteps of the Master. 

1878. Bible Heroines. 
1878. Poganuc People. 
1881. A Dog's Mission. 

In 1872 a new and remunerative field of labor was 
opened to Mrs. Stowe, and though it entailed a vast 
amount of weariness and hard work, she entered it 
with her customary energy and enthusiasm. It pre- 
sented itself in the shape of an offer from the American 
Literary (Lecture) Bureau of Boston to deliver a course 
of forty readings from her own works in the principal 
cities of the New England States. The offer was a 
liberal one, and Mrs. Stowe accepted it on condition 
that the reading tour should be ended in time to allow 
her to go to her Florida home in December. This be- 
ing acceded to, she set forth and gave her first reading 
in Bridgeport, Conn., on the evening of September 19, 

The following extracts from letters written to her 
husband while on this reading tour throw some inter- 
esting gleams of light on the scenes behind the curtain 
of the lecturer's platform. From Boston, October 3d, 
she writes : " Have had a most successful but fatiguing 
week. Read in Cambridgeport to-night, and Newbury- 
port to-morrow night." Two weeks later, upon receipt 
of a letter from her husband, in which he fears he has 
not long to live, she writes from Westfield, Mass : — 


" I have never had a greater trial than being forced 
to stay away from you now. I would not, but that my 
engagements have involved others in heavy expense, 
and should I fail to fulfill them, it would be doing a 

" God has given me strength as I needed it, and I 
never read more to my own satisfaction than last night. 

" Now, my dear husband, please do want, and try, 
to remain with us yet a while longer, and let us have a 
little quiet evening together before either of us crosses 
the river. My heart cries out for a home with you ; 
our home together in Florida. Oh, may we see it 
again ! Your ever loving wife." 

From Fitchburg, Mass., under date of October 29th, 
she writes : — 

"In the cars, near Palmer, who should I discover 
but Mr. and Mrs. J. T. Fields, returning from a West- 
ern trip, as gay as a troubadour. I took an empty 
seat next to them, and we had a jolly ride to Boston. 
I drove to Mr. Williams's house, where I met the Chelsea 
agent, who informed me that there was no hotel in 
Chelsea, but that they were expecting to send over for 
me. So I turned at once toward 148 Charles Street, 
where I tumbled in on the Fields before they had got 
their things off. We had a good laugh, and I received 
a hearty welcome. I was quickly installed in my room, 
where, after a nice dinner, I curled up for my after- 
noon nap. At half -past seven the carriage came for 
me, and I was informed that I should not have a hard 
reading, as they had engaged singers to take part. So, 
when I got into the carriage, who should I find, be- 
shawled, and beflowered, and betoggled in blue satin 


and white lace, but our old friend of Andover 

concert memory, now become Madame Thingumbob, of 
European celebrity. She had studied in Italy, come 
out in Milan, sung- there in opera for a whole winter, 
and also in Paris and London. 

" Well, she sings very sweetly and looks very nice 
and pretty. Then we had a little rosebud of a Chelsea 
girl who sang, and a pianist. I read ' Minister's House- 
keeper ' and Topsy, and the audience was very jolly 
and appreciative. Then we all jogged home." 

The next letter finds Mrs. Stowe in Maine, and writ- 
ing in the cars between Bangor and Portland. She 
says : — 

My dear Husband, — Well, Portland and Bangor 
are over, and the latter, which I had dreaded as lone- 
some and far off, turned out the pleasantest of any place 
I have visited yet. I stayed at the Fays ; he was one 
of the Andover students, you remember ; and found a 
warm, cosy, social home. In the evening I met an 
appreciative audience, and had a delightful reading. 
I read Captain Kittridge, apparently to the great satis- 
faction of the people, who laughed heartily at his sea 
stories, and the " Minister's Housekeeper " with the 
usual success, also Eva and Topsy. 

One woman, totally deaf, came to me afterwards and 
said : " Bless you. I come jist to see you. I 'd rather 
see you than the Queen." Another introduced her lit- 
tle girl named Harriet Beecher Stowe, and another, 
older, named Eva. She said they had traveled fifty 
miles to hear me read. An incident like that appeals 
to one's heart, does it not ? 


The people of Bangor were greatly embarrassed by 
the horse disease ; but the mayor and his wife walked 
over from their house, a long distance off, to bring me 
flowers, and at the reading he introduced me. I had an 
excellent audience notwithstanding that it rained tre- 
mendously, and everybody had to walk because there 
were no horses. The professors called on me, also 
Newman Smith, now a settled minister here. 

Everybody is so anxious about you, and Mr. Fay 
made me promise that you and I should come and 
spend a week with them next summer. Mr. Howard, 
in Portland, called upon me to inquire for you, and 
everybody was so delighted to hear that you were get- 
ting better. 

It stormed all the time I was in Portland and Ban- 
gor, so I saw nothing of them. Now I am in a palace 
car riding alongside the Kennebec, and recalling the 
incidents of my trip. I certainly had very satisfactory 
houses ; and these pleasant little visits, and meetings 
with old acquaintance, would be well worth having, 
even though I had made nothing in a pecuniary sense. 
On the whole it is as easy a way of making money as 
I have ever tried, though no way of making money is 
perfectly easy, — there must be some disagreeables. 
The lonesomeness of being at a hotel in dull weather is 
one, and in Portland it seems there is nobody now to 
invite us to their homes. Our old friends there are 
among the past. They have gone on over the river. 
I send you a bit of poetry that pleases me. The love 
of the old for each other has its poetry. It is some- 
thing sacred and full of riches. I long to be with you, 
and to have some more of our good long talks. 


The scenery along this river is very fine. The oaks 
still keep their leaves, though the other trees are bare ; 
but oaks and pines make a pleasant contrast. We 
shall stop twenty minutes at Brunswick, so I shall get 
a glimpse of the old place. 

Now we are passing through Hallowell, and the 
Kennebec changes sides. What a beautiful river ! It 
is now full of logs and rafts. Well, I must bring this 
to a close. Good-by, dear, with unchanging love. Ever 
your wife. 

From South Framingham, Mass., she writes on No- 
vember 7th : — 

Well, my dear, here I am in E.'s pretty little house. 
He has a pretty wife, a pretty sister, a pretty baby, two 
nice little boys, and a lovely white cat. The last is a 
perfect beauty ! a Persian, from a stock brought over 
by Dr. Parker, as white as snow, with the softest fur, a 
perfect bunch of loving-kindness, all purr and felicity. 
I had a good audience last evening, and enjoyed it. 
My audiences, considering the horse disease and the 
rains, are amazing. And how they do laugh ! We get 
into regular gales. 

E. has the real country minister turn-out : horse and 
buggy, and such a nice horse too. The baby is a 
beauty, and giggles, and goos, and shouts inquiries 
with the rising inflection, in the most inspiring manner. 

November 13. Wakefield. I read in Haverhill 
last night. It was as usual stormy. I had a good 
audience, but not springy and inspiriting like that at 
Waltham. Some audiences seem to put spring into 


one, and some to take it out. This one seemed good 
but heavy. I had to lift them, while in Framingham 
and Waltham they lifted me. 

The Lord bless and keep you. It grieves me to think 
you are dull and I not with you. By and by we will 
be together and stay together. Good-by dear. Your 
ever loving wife, H. B. S. 

November 24. "I had a very pleasant reading in 
Peabody. While there visited the library and saw the 
picture of the Queen that she had painted expressly 
for George Peabody. It was about six inches square, 
enameled on gold, and set in a massive frame of solid 
gold and velvet. The effect is like painting on ivory. 
At night the picture rolls back into a safe, and great 
doors, closed with a combination lock, defend it. It 
reminded me of some of the foreign wonders we have 

" Well, my course is almost done, and if I get 
through without any sickness, cold, or accident, how 
wonderful it will seem. I have never felt the near, 
kind presence of our Heavenly Father so much as in 
this. ' He giveth strength to the faint, and to them of 
no might He increaseth strength.' I have found this 
true all my life." 

From Newport she writes on November 26th : — 

" It was a hard, tiring, disagreeable piece of business 
to read in New London. Had to wait three mortal 
hours in Palmer. Then a slow, weary train, that did 
not reach New London until after dark. There was 
then no time to rest, and I was so tired that it did seem 
as though I could not dress. I really trembled with 


fatigue. The hall was long and dimly lighted, and 
the people were not seated compactly, but around in 
patches. The light was dim, except for a great flaring 
gas jet arranged right under my eyes on the reading 
desk, and I did not see a creature whom I knew. I 
was only too glad when it was over and I was back 
again at my hotel. There I found that I must be up 
at five o'clock to catch the Newport train. 

"I started for this place in the dusk of a dreary, 
foggy morning. Traveled first on a ferry, then in 
cars, and then in a little cold steamboat. Found no 
one to meet me, in spite of all my writing, and so took 
a carriage and came to the hotel. The landlord was 
very polite to me, said he knew me by my trunk, had 
been to our place in Mandarin, etc. All I wanted was 
a warm room, a good bed, and unlimited time to sleep. 
Now I have had a three hours' nap, and here I am, sit- 
ting by myself in the great, lonely hotel parlor. 

" Well, dear old man, I think lots of you, and only 
want to end all this in a quiet home where we can sing 
' John Anderson, my Jo ' together. I check off place 
after place as the captive the days of his imprison- 
ment. Only two more after to-night. Ever your lov- 
ing wife." 

Mrs. Stowe made one more reading tour the follow- 
ing year, and this time it was in the West. On Octo- 
ber 28, 1873, she writes from Zanesville, Ohio, to her 
son at Harvard : — 

You have been very good to write as often as you 
have, and your letters, meeting me at different points, 
have been most cheering. I have been tired, almost 


to the last degree. Read two successive evenings in 
Chicago, and traveled the following day for thirteen 
hours, a distance of about three hundred miles, to Cin- 
cinnati. We were compelled to go in the most uncom- 
fortable cars I ever saw, crowded to overflowing, a 
fiend of a stove at each end burning up all the air, and 
without a chance to even lay my head down. This is 
the grand route between Chicago and Cincinnati, and 
we were on it from eight in the morning until nearly 
ten at night. 

Arrived at Cincinnati we found that George Beecher 
had not received our telegram, was not expecting us, 
had no rooms engaged for us, and that we could not 
get rooms at his boarding-place. After finding all this 
out we had to go to the hotel, where, about eleven 
o'clock, I crept into bed with every nerve aching from 
fatigue. The next day was dark and rainy, and I lay 
in bed most of it ; but when I got up to go and read 
I felt only half rested, and was still so tired that it 
seemed as though I could not get through. 

Those who planned my engagements failed to take 
into account the fearful distances and wretched trains 
out here. On none of these great Western routes is 
there a drawing-room car. Mr. Saunders tried in every 
way to get them to put one on for us, but in vain. 
They are all reserved for the night trains ; so that there 
is no choice except to travel by night in sleeping cars, 
or take such trains as I have described in the daytime. 

I had a most sympathetic audience in Cincinnati ; 
they all seemed delighted and begged me to come 
again. The next day George took us for a drive out 
to Walnut Hills, where we saw the seminary buildings, 


the house where your sisters were born, and the house 
in which we afterwards lived. In the afternoon we had 
to leave and hurry away to a reading in Dayton. The 
next evening another in Columbus, where we spent 
Sunday with an old friend. 

By this time I am somewhat rested from the strain 
of that awful journey ; but I shall never again under- 
take such another. It was one of those things that 
have to be done once, to learn not to do it again. My 
only reading between Columbus and Pittsburgh is to be 
here in Zanesville, a town as black as Acheron, and 
where one might expect to see the river Styx. 

Later. I had a nice audience and a pleasant read- 
ing here, and to-day we go on to Pittsburgh, where I 
read to-morrow night. 

I met the other day at Dayton a woman who now 
has grandchildren ; but who, when I first came West, 
was a gay rattling girl. She was one of the first con- 
verts of brother George's seemingly obscure ministry 
in the little new town of Chillicothe. Now she has one 
son who is a judge of the supreme court, and another 
in business. Both she and they are not only Chris- 
tians, but Christians of the primitive sort, whose re- 
ligion is their all ; who triumph and glory in tribula- 
tion, knowing that it worketh patience. She told me, 
with a bright sweet calm, of her husband killed in bat- 
tle the first year of the war, of her only daughter and 
two grandchildren dying in the faith, and of her own 
happy waiting on God's will, with bright hopes of a 
joyful reunion. Her sons are leading members of the 
Presbyterian Church, and most active in stirring up 
others to make their profession a reality, not an empty 



name. When I thought that all this came from the 
conversion of one giddy girl, when George seemed to 
be doing so little, I said, " Who can measure the work 
of a faithful minister ? " It is such living witnesses 
that maintain Christianity on earth. 

Good-by. We shall soon be home now, and prepar- 
ing for Florida. Always your own loving mother, 

H. B. S. 

Mrs. Stowe never undertook another reading tour, 
nor, after this one, did she ever read again for money, 
though she frequently contributed her talent in this 
direction to the cause of charity. 

The most noteworthy event of her later years was the 
celebration of the seventieth anniversary of her birth- 
day. That it might be fittingly observed, her pub- 
lishers, Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. of Boston, 
arranged a reception for her in form of a garden party, 
to which they invited the literati of America. It was 
held on June 14, 1882, at " The Old Elms," the home 
of Ex-Governor Claflin of Massachusetts, in Newton- 
ville, one of Boston's most beautiful suburbs. Here 
the assembly gathered to do honor to Mrs. Stowe, that 
lovely June afternoon, comprised two hundred of the 
most distinguished and best known among the literary 
men and women of the day. 

From three until five o'clock was spent socially. As 
the guests arrived they were presented to Mrs. Stowe 
by Mr. H. 0. Houghton, and then they gathered in 
groups in the parlors, on the verandas, on the lawn, 
and in the refreshment room. At five o'clock they 
assembled in a large tent on the lawn, when Mr. 


Houghton, as host, addressed to his guest and her 
friends a few words of congratulation and welcome. 
He closed his remarks by saying : — 
" And now, honored madam, as 

" ' When to them who sail 
Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past 
Mozambic, off at sea northeast winds blow 
Sabean odors from the spicy shore 
Of Arabie the blest,' 

so the benedictions of the lowly and the blessings of 
all conditions of men are brought to you to-day on the 
wings of the wind, from every quarter of the globe ; 
but there will be no fresher laurels to crown this day 
of your rejoicing than are brought by those now before 
you, who have been your co-workers in the strife ; who 
have wrestled and suffered, fought and conquered, with 
you ; who rank you with the Miriams, the Deborahs, 
and the Judiths of old ; and who now shout back the 
refrain, when you utter the inspired song : — 

" ' Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously.' 

'The Almighty Lord hath disappointed them by the hand of a woman.' " 

In reply to this Mrs. Stowe's brother, Henry Ward 
Beecher, said : " Of course you all sympathize with me 
to-day, but, standing in this place, I do not see your 
faces more clearly than I see those of my father and 
my mother. Her I only knew as a mere babe-child. 
He was my teacher and my companion. A more guile- 
less soul than he, a more honest one, more free from 
envy, from jealousy, and from selfishness, I never knew. 
Though he thought he was great by his theology, 
everybody else knew he was great by his religion. My 


mother is to me what the Virgin Mary is to a devout 
Catholic. She was a woman of great nature, profound 
as a philosophical thinker, great in argument, with a 
kind of intellectual imagination, diffident, not talkative, 
— in which respect I take after her, — the woman who 
gave birth to Mrs. Stowe, whose graces and excellences 
she probably more than any of her children — we num- 
ber but thirteen — has possessed. I suppose that in 
bodily resemblance, perhaps, she is not like my mother, 
but in mind I presume she is most like her. I thank 
you for my father's sake and for my mother's sake for 
the courtesy, the friendliness, and the kindness which 
you give to Mrs. Stowe." 

The following poem from John Greenleaf Whittier 
was then read : — 

" Thrice welcome from the Land of Flowers 
And golden-fruited orange bowers 
To this sweet, green-turfed June of ours ! 
To her who, in our evil time, 
Dragged into light the nation's crime 
With strength beyond the strength of men, 
And, mightier than their sword, her pen ; 
To her who world-wide entrance gave 
To the log cabin of the slave, 
Made all his wrongs and sorrows known, 
And all earth's languages his own, — 
North, South, and East and West, made all 
The common air electrical, 
Until the o'ercharged bolts of heaven 
Blazed down, and every chain was riven ! 

" Welcome from each and all to her 
Whose Wooing of the Minister 
Revealed the warm heart of the man 
Beneath the creed-bound Puritan, 
And taught the kinship of the love 
Of man below and God above ; 


To her whose vigorous pencil-strokes 

Sketched into life her Old town Folks, 

Whose fireside stories, grave or gay, 

In quaint Sani Lawsou's vagrant way, 

With Old New England's flavor rife, 

Waifs from her rude idyllic life, 

Are racy as the legends old 

By Chaucer or Boccaccio told; 

To her who keeps, through change of place 

And time, her native strength and grace, 

Alike where warm Sorrento smiles, 

Or where, by birchen-shaded isles 

Whose summer winds have shivered o'er 

The icy drift of Labrador, 

She lifts to light the priceless Pearl 

Of Harpswell's angel-beckoned girl. 

To her at threescore years and ten 

Be tributes of the tongue and pen, 

Be honor, praise, and heart thanks given, 

The loves of earth, the hopes of heaven ! 

" Ah, dearer than the praise that stirs 
The air to-day, our love is hers ! 
She needs no guaranty of fame 
Whose own is linked with Freedom's name. 
Long ages after ours shall keep 
Her memory living while we sleep; 
The waves that wash our gray coast lines, 
The winds that rock the Southern pines 
Shall sing of her; the unending years 
Shall tell her tale in unborn ears. 
And when, with sins and follies past, 
Are numbered color-hate and caste, 
White, black, and red shall own as one, 
The noblest work by woman done." 

It was followed by a few words from Dr. Oliver 
Wendell Holmes, who also read the subjoined as his 
contribution to the chorus of congratulation : — 

"If every tongue that speaks her praise 
For whom I shape my tinkling phrase 
Were summoned to the table, 


The vocal chorus that would meet 
Of mingling accents harsh or sweet, 
From every land and tribe, would beat 
The polyglots of Babel. 

" Briton and Frenchman, Swede and Dane, 
Turk, Spaniard, Tartar of Ukraine, 

Hidalgo, Cossack, Cadi, 
High Dutchman and Low Dutchman, too, 
The Russian serf, the Polish Jew, 
Arab, Armenian, and Mantchoo 

Would shout, ' We know the lady.' 

" Know her ! Who knows not Uncle Tom 
And her he learned his gospel from, 

Has never heard of Moses ; 
Full well the brave black hand we know 
That gave to freedom's grasp the hoe 
That killed the weed that used to grow 
Among the Southern roses. 

" When Archimedes, long ago, 
Spoke out so grandly, ' Dos pou sto, — 

Give me a place to stand on, 
I '11 move your planet for you, now,' — 
He little dreamed or fancied how 
The sto at last should find its pou 

For woman's faith to land on. 

" Her lever was the wand of art, 
Her fulcrum was the human heart, 

Whence all unfailing aid is; 
She moved the earth ! Its thunders pealed, 
Its mountains shook, its temples reeled, 
The blood-red fountains were unsealed, 

And Moloch sunk to Hades. 

, " All through tl»e conflict, up and down 

Marched Uncle Tom and Old John Brown, 

One ghost, one form ideal ; 
And which was false and which was true, 
And which was mightier of the two, 
The wisest sibyl never knew, 

For both alike were real. 


11 Sister, the holy maid does well 
Who counts her heads in convent cell, 

Where pale devotion lingers; 
But she who serves the sufferer's needs, 
Whose prayers are spelt in loving deeds, 
May trust the Lord will count her heads 

As well as human fingers. 

" When Truth herself was Slavery's slave 
Thy hand the prisoned suppliant gave 

The rainbow wings of fiction. 
And Truth who soared descends to-day 
Bearing an angel's wreath away, 
Its lilies at thy feet to lay 

With heaven's own benediction.'' 

Poems written for the occasion by Mrs. A. D. T. 
Whitney, Miss Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, Mr. J. T. 
Trowbridge, Mrs. Allen (Mrs. Stowe's daughter), Mrs. 
Annie Fields, and Miss Charlotte F. Bates, were also 
read, and speeches were made by Judge Albion W. 
Tourgee and others prominent in the literary world. 

Letters from many noted people, who were prevented 
from being present by distance or by other engage- 
ments, had been received. Only four of them were 
read, but they were all placed in Mrs. Stowe's hands. 
The exercises were closed by a few words from Mrs. 
Stowe herself. As she came to the front of the plat- 
form the whole company rose, and remained standing 
until she had finished. In her quiet, modest, way, and 
yet so clearly as to be plainly heard by all, she said : — 

" I wish to say that I thank all my friends from my 
heart, — that is all. And one thing more, — and that 
is, if any of you have doubt, or sorrow, or pain, if you 
doubt about this world, just remember what God has 
done ; just remember that this great sorrow of slavery 


has gone, gone by forever. I see it every day at the 
South. I walk about there and see the lowly cabins. 
I see these people growing richer and richer. I see 
men very happy in their lowly lot ; but, to be sure, you 
must have patience with them. They are not perfect, 
but have their faults, and they are serious faults in the 
view of white people. But they are very happy, that 
is evident, and they do know how to enjoy themselves, 
— a great deal more than you do. An old negro 
friend in our neighborhood has got a new, nice two- 
story house, and an orange grove, and a sugar-mill. 
He has got a lot of money, besides. Mr. Stowe met 
him one day, and he said, ' I have got twenty head of 
cattle, four head of " hoss," forty head of hen, and I 
have got ten children, all mine, every one mine* 
Well, now, that is a thing that a black man could not 
say once, and this man was sixty years old before he 
could say it. With all the faults of the colored people, 
take a man and put him down with nothing but his 
hands, and how many could say as much as that ? I 
think they have done well. 

" A little while ago they had at his house an evening 
festival for their church, and raised fifty dollars. We 
white folks took our carriages, and when we reached 
the house we found it fixed nicely. Every one of his 
daughters knew how to cook. They had a good place 
for the festival. Their suppers were spread on little 
white tables with nice clean cloths on them. People 
paid fifty cents for supper. They got between fifty 
and sixty dollars, and had one of the best frolics you 
could imagine. They had also for supper ice-cream, 
which they made themselves. 


" That is the sort of thing I see going on around me. 
Let us never doubt. Everything that ought to happen 
is going to happen." 

Mrs. Stowe's public life ends with the garden party, 
and little more remains to be told. She had already, 
in 1880, begun the task of selection from the great 
accumulation of letters and papers relating to her life, 
and writes thus to her son in Saco, Maine, regarding 
the work : — 

September 30, 1880. 

My dear Charley, — My mind has been with you 
a great deal lately. I have been looking over and 
arranging my papers with a view to sifting out those 
that are not worth keeping, and so filing and arranging 
those that are to be kept, that my heirs and assigns 
may with the less trouble know where and what they 
are. I cannot describe (to you) the peculiar feelings 
which this review occasions. Reading old letters — 
when so many of the writers are gone from earth, 
seems to me like going into the world of spirits — let- 
ters full of the warm, eager, anxious, busy life, that 
is forever past. My own letters, too, full of by-gone 
scenes in my early life and the childish days of my 
children. It is affecting to me to recall things that 
strongly moved me years ago, that filled my thoughts 
and made me anxious when the occasion and emotion 
have wholly vanished from my mind. But I thank 
God there is one thing running through all of them 
from the time I was thirteen years old, and that is the 
intense unwavering sense of Christ's educating, guid- 
ing presence and care. It is all that remains now. 


The romance of my youth is faded, it looks to me now, 
from my years, so very young — those days when my 
mind only lived in emotion, and when my letters never 
were dated, because they were only histories of the in- 
ternal, but now that I am no more and never can be 
young in this world, now that the friends of those 
days are almost all in eternity, what remains? 

Through life and through death, through sorrowing, through sinning, 
Christ shall suffice me as he hath sufficed. 
Christ is the end and Christ the beginning, 
The beginning and end of all is Christ. 

I was passionate in my attachments in those far back 
years, and as I have looked over files of old letters, 
they are all gone (except one, C. Van Rensselaer), 
Georgiana May, Delia Bacon, Clarissa Treat, Elisabeth 
Lyman, Sarah Colt, Elisabeth Phenix, Frances Strong, 
Elisabeth Foster. I have letters from them all, but 
they have been long in spirit land and know more about 
how it is there than I do. It gives me a sort of dizzy 
feeling of the shortness of life and nearness of eternity 
when I see how many that I have traveled with are 
gone within the veil. Then there are all my own let- 
ters, written in the first two years of marriage, when 
Mr. Stowe was in Europe and I was looking forward to 
motherhood and preparing for it — my letters when 
my whole life was within the four walls of my nursery, 
my thoughts absorbed by the developing character of 
children who have now lived their earthly life and gone 
to the eternal one, — my two little boys, each in their 
way good and lovely, whom Christ has taken in youth, 
and my little one, my first Charley, whom He took 
away before he knew sin or sorrow, — then my brother 


George and sister Catherine, the one a companion of 
my youth, the other the mother who assumed the care 
of me after I left home in my twelfth year — and they 
are gone. Then my blessed father, for many years so 
true an image of the Heavenly Father, — in all my 
afflictions he was afflicted, in all my perplexities he was 
a sure and safe counselor, and he too is gone upward to 
join the angelic mother whom I scarcely knew in this 
world, who has been to me only a spiritual presence 
through life. 

In 1882 Mrs. Stowe writes to her son certain impres- 
sions derived from reading the " Life and Letters of 
John Quincy Adams," which are given as containing a 
retrospect of the stormy period of her own life-experi- 

" Your father enjoys his proximity to the Boston 
library. He is now reading the twelve or fourteen 
volumes of the life and diary of John Q. Adams. It is 
a history of our country through all the period of 
slavery usurpation that led to the war. The industry 
of the man in writing is wonderful. Every day's do- 
ings in the house are faithfully daguerreotyped, — all 
the mean tricks, contrivances of the slave-power, and 
the pusillanimity of the Northern members from day to 
day recorded. Calhoun was then secretary of state. 
Under his connivance even the United States census 
was falsified, to prove that freedom was bad for negroes. 
Records of deaf, dumb, and blind, and insane colored 
people were distributed in Northern States, and in 
places where John Q. Adams had means of proving 
there were no negroes. When he found that these 


falsified figures had been used with the English em- 
bassador as reasons for admitting Texas as a slave State, 
the old man called on Calhoun, and showed him the 
industriously collected proofs of the falsity of this 
census. He says : ' He writhed like a trodden rattle- 
snake, but said the census was full of mistakes ; but 
one part balanced another, — it was not worth while to 
correct them.' His whole life was an incessant warfare 
with the rapidly advancing spirit of slavery, that was 
coiling like a serpent around everything. 

" At a time when the Southerners were like so many 
excited tigers and rattlesnakes, — when they bullied, 
and scoffed, and sneered, and threatened, this old man 
rose every day in his place, and, knowing every par- 
liamentary rule and tactic of debate, found means to 
make himself heard. Then he presented a petition 
from negroes, which raised a storm of fury. The old 
man claimed that the right of petition was the right of 
every human being. They moved to expel him. By 
the rules of the house a man, before he can be ex- 
pelled, may have the floor to make his defense. This 
was just what he wanted. He held the floor for four- 
teen days, and used his wonderful powers of memory 
and arrangement to give a systematic, scathing history 
of the usurpations of slavery; he would have spoken 
fourteen days more, but his enemies, finding the thing 
getting hotter and hotter, withdrew their motion, and 
the right of petition was gained. 

"What is remarkable in this journal is the minute 
record of going to church every Sunday, and an analy- 
sis of the text and sermon. There is something about 
these so simple, so humble, so earnest. Often differing 


from the speaker — but with gravity and humility — 
he seems always to be so self -distrustful ; to have such 
a sense of sinfulness and weakness, but such trust in 
God's fatherly mercy, as is most beautiful to see. Just 
the record of his Sunday sermons, and his remarks 
upon them, would be most instructive to a preacher. 
He was a regular communicant, and, beside, attended 
church on Christmas and Easter, — I cannot but love 
the old man. He died without seeing even the dawn 
of liberty which God has brought ; but oh ! I am sure 
he sees it from above. He died in the Capitol, in the 
midst of his labors, and the last words he said were, 
' This is the last of earth ; I am content.' And now, I 
trust, he is with God. 

" All, all are gone. All that raged ; all that threat- 
ened ; all the cowards that yielded ; truckled, sold their 
country for a mess of pottage ; all the men that stood 
and bore infamy and scorn for the truth ; all are silent 
in dust ; the fight is over, but eternity will never efface 
from their souls whether they did well or ill — whether 
they fought bravely or failed like cowards. In a sense, 
our lives are irreparable. If we shrink, if we fail, if we 
choose the fleeting instead of the eternal, God may for- 
give us ; but there must be an eternal regret ! This 
man lived for humanity when hardest bestead ; for 
truth when truth was unpopular ; for Christ when 
Christ stood chained and scourged in the person of the 

In the fall of 1887 she writes to her brother Rev. 
Dr. Edward Beecher of Brooklyn, N. Y. : — 


49 Forest Street, Hartford, Conn., October 11, 1887. 

Dear Brother, — I was delighted to receive your 
kind letter. You were my earliest religious teacher ; 
your letters to me while a school-girl in Hartford gave 
me a high Christian aim and standard which I hope 
I have never lost. Not only did they do me good, but 
also my intimate friends, Georgiana May and Cather- 
ine Cogswell, to whom I read them. The simplicity, 
warmth, and childlike earnestness of those school days 
I love to recall. I am the only one living of that circle 
of early friends. Not one of my early schoolmates is 
living, — and now Henry, younger by a year or two 
than I, has gone — my husband also. 1 I often think, 
Why am I spared ? Is there yet anything for me to 
do ? I am thinking with my son Charles's help of writ- 
ing a review of my life, under the title, " Pebbles from 
the Shores of a Past Life." 

Charlie told me that he has got all written up to my 
twelfth or thirteenth year, when I came to be under sis- 
ter Catherine's care in Hartford. I am writing daily my 
remembrances from that time. You were then, I think, 
teacher of the Grammar School in Hartford. . . . 

So, my dear brother, let us keep good heart ; no evil 
can befall us. Sin alone is evil, and from that Christ 
will keep us. Our journey is so short ! 

I feel about all things now as I do about the things 
that happen in a hotel, after my trunk is packed to go 
home. I may be vexed and annoyed . . . but what of 
it ! I am going home soon. 

Your affectionate sister, Hattie. 

1 Professor Stowe died August, 1886. 


To a friend she writes a little later : — 

" I have thought much lately of the possibility of my 
leaving you all and going home. I am come to that 
stage of my pilgrimage that is within sight of the River 
of Death, and I feel that now I must have all in readi- 
ness day and night for the messenger of the King. I 
have sometimes had in my sleep strange perceptions of 
a vivid spiritual life near to and with Christ, and mul- 
titudes of holy ones, and the joy of it is like no other 
joy, — it cannot be told in the language of the world. 
What I have then I know with absolute certainty, yet 
it is so unlike and above anything we conceive of in 
this world that it is difficult to put it into words. The 
inconceivable loveliness of Christ ! It seems that about 
Him there is a sphere where the enthusiasm of love is 
the calm habit of the soul, that without words, without 
the necessity of demonstrations of affection, heart beats 
to heart, soul answers soul, we respond to the Infinite 
Love, and we feel his answer in us, and there is no 
need of words. All seemed to be busy coming and 
going on ministries of good, and passing each gave 
a thrill of joy to each as Jesus, the directing soul, 
the centre of all, ' over all, in all, and through all," was 
working his beautiful and merciful will to redeem and 
save. I was saying as I awoke : — 

" ' 'T is joy enough, my all in all, 
At thy dear feet to lie. 
Thou wilt not let me lower fall, 
And none can higher fly.' 

" This was but a glimpse ; but it has left a strange 
sweetness in my mind." 


Abbott, Mr. and Mrs. Jacob, 292. 

Aberdeen, reception in, 221. 

Abolition, English meetings in favor of, 

Abolition sentiment, growth of, 87. 

Abolitionism made fashionable, 253. 

Adams, John Quincy, crusade of, 
against slavery, 509 ; holds floor of 
Congress fourteen days, 510 ; his 
religious life and trust, 511 ; died 
without seeing dawn of liberty, 511 ; 
life and letters of, 510. 

" Agnes of Sorrento," first draft of, 
374 ; date of, 490 ; Whittier's praise 
of, 503. 

" Alabama Planter," savage attack of, 
on H. B. S., 187. 

Albert, Prince, Mrs. Stowe's letter to, 
160; his reply, 164, meeting with, 
271, death, 368. 

America, liberty in, 193 ; Ruskin on, 

American novelist, Lowell on the, 330. 

Andover, Mass., beauty of, 186 ; Stowe 
family settled in, 188. 

Anti-slavery cause : result of English 
demonstrations, 252 ; letters to Eng- 
land, 160 ; feeling dreaded in South, 
172 ; movement in Cincinnati, 81 ; in 
Boston, 145 ; Beecher family all 
anti-slavery men, 152. 

" Arabian Nights," H. B. S.'s delight 
in, 9.' 

Argyll, Duke and Duchess of 229, 
232 ; warmth of, 239 ; H. B. S. in- 
vited to visit, 270, 271; death of 
father of Duchess, 368. 

Argyll, Duchess of, letter from H. B. S. 
to, on England's attitude during our 
Civil War, 368 ; on post bellum events, 

"Atlantic Monthly," contains " Min- 
ister's Wooing, " 327 ; Mrs. Stowe's 
address to women of England, 375 ; 
" The True Story of Lady Byron's 
Life," 447, 453. 

Bailey, Gamaliel, Dr., editor of "Na- 
tional Era," 157. 

Bangor, readings in, 493. 

Bates, Charlotte Fiske, reads a poem 
at Mrs. Stowe's seventieth birthday, 

Baxter's " Saints' Rest," has a power- 
ful effect on H. B. S.,32. 

Beecher, Catherine, eldest sister of H. 
B. S., 1 ; her education of H. B. S, 
22 ; account of her own birth, 23 ; 
strong influence over Harriet, 22 ; 
girlhood of, 23 ; teacher at New Lon- 
don, 23 ; engagement, 23 ; drowning 
of her lover, 23 ; soul struggles after 
Prof. Fisher's death, 25, 26 ; teaches 
in his family, 25 ; publishes article 
on Free Agency, 26 ; opens school 
at Hartford, 27 ; solution of doubts 
while teaching, 28, 29 ; her concep- 
tion of Divine Nature, 28 ; school at 
Hartford described by H. B. S., 29 ; 
doubts about Harriet's conversion, 
35 ; hopes for " Hartford Female 
Seminary," 37; letter to Edward 
about Harriet's doubts, 38 ; note on 
Harriet's letter, 43 ; new school at 



Cincinnati, 53, 64, etseq.; visits Cin- 
cinnati with father ; impressions of 
city, 54 ; homesickness, 62 ; at water 
cure, 113 ; a mother to sister Har- 
riet, 509; letters to H. B. S. to, 
on her religious depression, 37 ; on 
religious doubts, 322. 

Beecher, Charles, brother of H. B. S., 
2 ; in college, 56 ; goes to Florida, 
402 ; letters from H. B. S., on 
mother's death, 2-4, 49. 

Beecher, Edward, Dr., brother of H. 
B. S., 1 ; influence over her, 22, 25 ; 
indignation against Fugitive Slave 
Act, 144 ; efforts to arouse churches, 
265 ; letters from H. B. S. to, on 
early religious struggles, 36, 37; on 
her feelings, 39 ; on views of God, 42, 
43, 44, 48 ; on death of friends and 
relatives, and the writing of her life 
by her son Charles, 512. 

Beecher, Esther, aunt of H. B. S., 53, 
56, 57. 

Beecher family, famous reunion of, 89 ; 
circular letter to, 99. 

Beecher, Frederick, H. B. S.'s half- 
brother, death of, 13. 

Beecher, George, brother of H. B. S., 
1 ; visit to, 45 ; enters Lane as stu- 
dent, 53 ; music and tracts, 58 ; ac- 
count of journey to Cincinnati, 59 ; 
sudden death, 108 ; H. B. S. meets 
at Dayton one of his first converts, 
499 ; his letters cherished, 508. 

Beecher, George, nephew of H. B. 
S., visit to, 498. 

Beecher, Mrs. George, letter from H. 
B. S. to, describing new home, 133. 

Beecher, Harriet E. first ; death of, 
1 ; second, (H. B. S.) birth of, 1. 

Beecher, Mrs. Harriet Porter, H. B. 
S.'s stepmother, 11 ; personal ap- 
pearance and character of, 11, 12 ; 
pleasant impressions of new home 
and children, 12 ; at Cincinnati, 62. 

Beecher, Henry Ward, brother of 
H. B. S., birth of, 1 ; anecdote 
of, after mother's death, 2 ; first 

school, 8 ; conception of Divine Na- 
ture, 28 ; in college, 55 ; H. B. S. at- 
tends graduation, 73 ; editor of Cin- 
cinnati "Journal," 81; sympathy 
with anti-slavery movement, 84, 85, 
87 ; at Brooklyn, 130 ; saves Edmon- 
son's daughters, 178 ; H. B. S. visits, 
364 ; views on Reconstruction, 397 ; 
George Eliot on Beecher trial, 472 ; 
his character as told by H. B. S., 
475 ; love for Prof. Stowe, 475 ; his 
youth and life in West, 476 ; Brook- 
lyn and his anti-slavery fight, 476 ; 
Edmonsons and Plymouth Church, 
477 ; his loyalty and energy, 477 ; 
his religion, 477 ; popularity and 
personal magnetism, 478 ; terrible 
struggle in the Beecher trial, 478 ; 
bribery of jury, but final triumph, 
479; ecclesiastical trial of, 479; 
committee of five appointed to bring 
facts, 479 ; his ideal purity and inno- 
cence, 480 ; power at death-beds and 
funerals, 480 ; beloved by poor and 
oppressed, 481 ; meets accusations by 
silence, prayer, and work, 481 ; his 
thanks and speech at Stowe Garden 
Party, 501; tribute to father, mother, 
and sister Harriet, 502 ; death, 512. 

Beecher, Isabella, H. B. S.'s half- 
sister, birth of, 13 ; goes to Cincin- 
nati, 53. 

Beecher, James, H. B. S.'s half-bro- 
ther, 45 ; goes to Cincinnati, 53 ; 
begins Sunday-school, 63. 

Beecher, Rev. Dr. Lyman, H. B. 
Stowe's father, 1 ; " Autobiography 
and Correspondence of," 2, 89 ; ver- 
dict on his wife's remarkable piety, 
3 ; pride in his daughter's essay, 14 ; 
admfration of Walter Scott, 25; 
sermon which converts H B. S., 33, 
34 ; accepts call to Hanover Street 
Church, Boston, 35; president of 
Lane Theological Seminary, 53; 
first journey to Cincinnati, 53; re- 
moval and westward journey, 56 et 
seq. ; removes family to Cincinnati, 



56 ; Beecher reunion, 89 ; powerful 
sermons on slave question, 152 ; his 
sturdy character, H. W. Beecher' s 
eulogy upon, 502 ; death and reunion 
•with H. B. S's mother, 509. 

Beecher, Mary, sister of H. B. S., 1 ; 
married, 55 ; letter to, 61 ; accom- 
panies sister to Europe, 269 ; let- 
ters from H. B. S. to, on love for 
New England, 61 ; on visit to Wind- 
sor, 235. 

Beecher, Roxanna Foote, mother of 
H. B. S., 1 ; her death, 2 ; strong, 
sympathetic nature, 2 ; reverence 
for the Sahhath, 3 ; sickness, death, 
and funeral, 4 ; influence in family 
strong even after death, 5 ; character 
described by H. W. Beecher, 502 ; 
H. B. S.'s resemblance to, 502. 

Beecher, William, brother of H. B. S., 
1 ; licensed to preach, 56. 

Bell, Henry, English inventor of steam- 
boat, 215. 

Belloc, Mme., translates" Uncle Tom," 

Belloc, M., to paint portrait of H. B. S., 

Bentley, London publisher, offers pay 
for "Uncle Tom's Cabin," 202. 

" Betty's Bright Idea," date of, 491. 

Bible, 48 ; Uncle Tom's, 262 ; use and 
influence of, 263. 

" Bible Heroines," date of, 491. 

Bibliography of H. B. S., 490. 

Biography, H. B. S.'s remarks on writ- 
ing and understanding, 126. 

Birney, J. G., office wrecked, 81 et 
seq. ; H. B. S.'s sympathy with, 84. 

Birthday, seventieth, celebration of by 
Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 500. 

Blackwood's attack on Lady Byron, 

Blantyre, Lord, 230. 

Bogue, David, 189-191. 

Boston opens doors to slave-hunters, 

Boston Library, Prof. Stowe enjoys 
proximity to, 509. 

Bowdoin College calls Prof. Stowe, 
125, 129. 

Bowen, H. C, 181. 

Bruce. John, of Litchfield Academy, 
H. B. S.'s tribute to, 14 ; lectures on 
Butler's "Analogy," 32. 

Brigham, Miss, character of, 46. 

Bright, John, letter to H. B. S. on her 
" Appeal to English Women," 389. 

Brooklyn, Mrs. Stowe's visit to brother 
Henry in, 130 ; visit in 1852, when 
she helps the Edmonson slave family, 
178-180 ; Beecher, H. W. called to, 
476; Beecher trial in, 478. 

Brown and the phantoms, 431. 

Brown, John, bravery of, 380. 

Browning, Mrs., on life and love, 52. 

Browning, E. B., letter to H. B. S., 
356 ; death of, 368, 370. 

Browning, Robert and E. B , friend- 
ship with, 355. 

Brunswick, Mrs. Stowe's love of, 184 ; 
revisited, 324. 

Buck, Eliza, history of as slave, 201. 

Bull, J. D. and family, make home 
for H. B. S. while at school in Hart- 
ford, 30, 31. 

Bunsen, Chevalier, 233. 

Bunyan's " Pilgrim's Progress," Prof. 
Stowe's love of, 437. 

Burritt, Elihu, writes introduction to 
"Uncle Tom's Cabin," 192; calls on 
Mrs. Stowe, 223. 

Butler's "Analogy," study of, by H. 
B. S., 32. 

" Byron Controversy," 445 ; history of, 
455 ; George Eliot on, 458 ; Dr. 
Holmes on, 455. 

Byron, Lady, 239 ; letters from, 274, 
281 ; makes donation to Kansas suf- 
ferers, 281 ; on power of words, 361 ; 
death of, 368, 370 ; her character 
assailed, 446 ; her first meeting with 
H. B. S., 447 ; dignity and calmness, 
448 ; memoranda and letters about 
Lord Byron shown to Mrs. Stowe, 
450 ; solemn interview with H. B. S., 
453 ; letters to H. B. S. from, 274, 



282; on "The Minister's Wooing," 
343 ; farewell to, 313, 339 ; her con- 
fidences, 440; Mrs. Stowe's coun- 
sels to, 451. 
Byron, Lord, Mrs. Stowe on, 339 ; she 
suspects his insanity, 450 ; cheap 
edition of his works proposed, 453 ; 
Recollections of, by Countess Guic- 
cioli, 446 ; his position as viewed by 
Dr. Holmes, 457 ; evidence of his 
poems for and against him, 457. 

" Cabin, The," literary centre, 185. 

Cairnes, Prof., on the " Fugitive Slave 
Law," 146. 

Calhoun falsifies census, 509. 

Calvinism, J. R. Lowell's sympathy 
with, 335. 

Cambridgeport, H. B. S. reads in, 491. 

Carlisle, Lord, praises " Uncle Tom's 
Cabin," 164; Mrs. Stowe's reply, 
164 ; writes introduction to " Uncle 
Tom," 192; H. B. S. dines with, 
228 ; farewell to, 248 ; letter from 
H. B. S. to on moral effect of slavery, 
164; letter to H. B. S. from, 218. 

Cary, Alice and Phoebe, 157. 

Casaubon and Dorothea, criticism by 
H. B. S. on, 471. 

Catechisms, Church and Assembly, H. 
B. S.'s early study of, 6, 7. 

Chapman, Mrs. Margaret Weston, 310. 

Charpentier of Paris, publishes " Uncle 
Tom's Cabin," 192; eulogy of that 
work, 242. 

Chase, Salmon P., 69, 85. 

Chelsea, H. B. S. reads in, 492. 

Chicago, readings in, 498. 

Children of H. B. S., picture of three 
eldest, 90 ; appeal to, by H. B. S. 
157 ; described by H. B. S., 198 ; let- 
ters to, from H. B. S. on European 
voyage and impressions, 205 ; on life 
in London, 228 ; on meeting at Staf- 
ford House, 232 ; on Vesuvius, 301, 

" Chimney Corner, The," date of, 

Cholera epidemic in Cincinnati, 120. 

Christ, life of, little understood, 127 ; 
communion with Him possible, 487 ; 
love and faith in, 513 ; study of his 
life, 418 ; his presence all that re- 
mains now, 507 : his promises com- 
fort the soul for separations by 
death, 486. 

" Christian Union," contains observa- 
tions by H. B. S. on spiritualism and 
Mr. Owen's books, 465. 

Christianity and spiritualism, 487. 

Church, the, responsible for slavery, 

Cincinnati, Lyman Beecher accepts 
call to, 53 ; Catherine Beecher's im- 
pressions of, 54, 55 ; Walnut Hills 
and Seminary, 54, 55; famine in, 
100 ; cholera, 119 ; sympathetic au- 
dience in, 498. 

Civil War, Mrs. Stowe on causes of, 

Clarke & Co. on English success of 
"Uncle Tom's Cabin," 190; offer 
author remuneration, 202. 

Clay, Henry, and his compromise, 

Cogswell, Catherine Ledyard, school- 
friend of H. B. S., 31. 

College of Teachers, 79. 

Collins professorship, 129. 

Colored people, advance of, 255. 

Confederacy, A. H. Stephens on ob- 
ject of, 381. 

Courage and cheerfulness of H. B. S., 

Cranch, E. P., 69. 

Cruikshank illustrates "Uncle Tom's 
Cabin," 192. 

" Daniel Deronda," appears in 
"Harper's," 473; his nature like 
H. W. Beecher's, 481 ; admiration 
of Prof. Stowe for, 482. 

Da Vinci's Last Supper, H. B. S.'s 
impressions of, 305. 

Death of youngest-born of H. B. S., 
124 ; anguish at, 198. 



Death, H. B. S. within sight of the 
River of, 513. 

" Debatable Land between this World 
and the Next," 464. 

Declaration of Independence, H. B. 
S.'s feeling about, 11 ; death-knell 
to slavery, 141. 

Degan, Miss, 32, 41, 46. 

Democracy and American novelists, 
Lowell on, 329. 

" De Profundis," motive of Mrs. 
Browning's, 357. 

De Stael, Mme., and Corinne, 67. 

Dickens, first sight of, 226; J. R. 
Lowell on, 328. 

" Dog's Mission, A," date of, 491. 

Domestic service, H. B. S.'s trouble 
with, 200. 

Doubters and disbelievers may find 
comfort in spiritualism, 487. 

Doubts, religious, after death of eld- 
est son, 321. 

Douglass, Frederick, 254 ; letters from 
H. B. S. to, on slavery, 149. 

Drake, Dr., family physician, 63 ; one 
of founders of " College of Teach- 
ers," 79. 

" Dred," 266 ; Sumner's letter on, 268 ; 
Georgiana May on, 268 ; English 
edition of, 270 ; presented to Queen 
Victoria, 271 ; her interest in, 277, 
285 ; demand for, in Glasgow, 273 ; 
Duchess of Sutherland's copy, 276 ; 
Low's sales of , 278, 279 ; "London 
Times, ' ' on, 278 ; English reviews 
on, severe, 279 ; ' ' Revue des Deux 
Mondes" on, 290; Miss Martineau 
on, 309; Prescott on, 311 ; Lowell 
on, 334; now " Nina Gordon," pub- 
lication of, 490. 

Dudevant, Madame. See Sand, George. 

Dufferin, Lord and Lady, their love 
of American literature, 284, 285. 

Dundee, meeting at, 222. 

Dunrobin Castle, visit to, 276. 

E , letter from H. B. S. to, on 

breakfast at the Trevelyans', 234. 

"Earthly Care a Heavenly Disci- 
pline," 131. 

East Hampton, L. I., birthplace of 
Catherine Beecher, 23. 

Eastman, Mrs., writes a Southern reply 
to " Uncle Tom's Cabin," 163. 

Edgeworth, Maria, 247. 

Edinburgh, H. B. S. in, 216 ; return 
to, 222. 

Edmonson slave family ; efforts to 
save, 179 ; Mrs. Stowe educates 
and supports daughters, 179; raises 
money to free mother and two slave 
children, 180. 

Edmonson, death of Mary, 238. 

Education, H. B. S.'s interest in, 72, 

Edwards, Jonathan, the power of, 406 ; 
his treatise on " The Will," refuted 
by Catherine Beecher, 26. 

Eliot, George, 419 ; a good Christian, 
420 ; on psychical problems, 421 ; on 
"Oldtown Folks," 443; her de- 
spondency in "writing life" and 
longing for sympathy, 460; on 
power of fine books, 461 ; on reli- 
gion, 462 ; desires to keep an open 
mind on all subjects, 467 ; on im- 
postures of spiritualism, 467 ; lack 
of "jollitude" in "Middlemarch," 
471 ; invited to visit America, 471 ; 
sympathy with H. B. S. in Beecher 
trial, 472 ; proud of Stowes' inter- 
est in her " spiritual children," 482 ; 
on death of Mr. Lewes and grati- 
tude for sympathy of H. B. S., 483 ; 
a " woman worth loving," H. B. S.'s 
love for greater than her admira- 
tion, 475 ; letters from H. B. S. 
to, on spiritualism, 463 ; describes 
Florida nature and home, 468 ; 
reply to letter of sympathy giving 
facts in the Beecher case, 473 ; from 
Professor Stowe on spiritualism, 
419 ; letter to H. B. S. from, 421 ; 
with sympathy on abuse called out 
by the Byron affair. 458 ; on effect 
of letter of H. B. S. to Mrs. Follen 



upon her mind, 460 ; on joy of sym- 
pathy, 460 ; reply to letter on spirit- 
ualism, 466 ; sympathy with her in 
the Beecher trial, 472. 

Elmes, Mr., 57. 

"Elms, The Old," H. B. S.'s seven- 
tieth hirthday celebrated at, 500. 

"Elsie Venner," Mrs. Stowe's praise 
of, 360, 362, 415. 

Emancipation, Proclamation of, 384. 

Emmons, Doctor, the preaching of, 

England and America compared, 177. 

England, attitude of, in civil war, grief 
at, 369 ; help of to America on slave 
question, 166, 174. 

English women's address on slavery, 
374 ; H. B. S.'s reply in the " At- 
lantic Monthly," 374. 

Europe, first visit to, 189 ; second 
visit to, 268 ; third visit to, 343. 

Faith in Christ, 513. 

Famine in Cincinnati, 100. 

Fiction, power of, 216. 

Fields, Mrs. Annie, in Boston, 470 ; her 
tribute to Mrs. Stowe's courage and 
cheerfulness, 473; George Eliot's 
mention of, 483 ; her poem read at 
seventieth birthday, 505. 

Fields. Jas. T., Mr. and Mrs., visit of 
H. B. S. to, 492. 

Fisher, Prof. Alexander Metcalf , 23 ; 
engagement to Catherine Beecher, 
23: sails for Europe, 23, 24; his 
death by drowning in shipwreck of 
Albion, 24 ; Catherine Beecher's soul 
struggles, over his future fate, 25 ; 
influence of these struggles depicted 
in " The Minister's Wooing," 25. 

Florence, Mrs. Stowe's winter in, 349. 

Florida, winter home in Mandarin, 401 ; 
like Sorrento, 463 ; wonderful growth 
of nature, 468 ; how H. B. S.'s house 
was built, 469 ; her happy life in, 
474 ; longings for, 482 ; her enjoy- 
ment of happy life of the f reedmen 
in, 506. 

Flowers, love of, 405, 406, 416, 469; 
painting, 469. 

Follen, Mrs., 197 ; letter fromH. B. S. 
to, on her biography, 197. 

Foote, Harriet, aunt of H. B. S., 5 ; en- 
ergetic English character, 6 ; teaches 
niece catechism, 6, 7. 

Foote, Mrs. Roxanna, grandmother of 
H. B. S. , first visit to, 5-7 ; visit to 
in 1827, 38. 

"Footfalls on the Boundary of An- 
other World," 464. 

" Footsteps of the Master," published, 

"Fraser's Magazine" on "Uncle 
Tom's Cabin," 168; Helps' s review 
of " Uncle Tom's Cabin," 175. 

"Free Agency," Catherine Beecher's 
refutation of Edwards on " The 
Will," 26. 

French critics, high standing of, 

Friends, love for, 51 ; death of, 410 ; 
death of old, whose letters are cher- 
ished, 508 ; death of, takes away a 
part of ourselves, 485. 

Friendship, opinion of, 50. 

Fugitive Slave Act, suffering caused 
by, 144; Prof. Cairnes on, 146; 
practically repealed, 384. 

Future life, glimpses of, leave strange 
sweetness, 513. 

Future punishment, ideas of, 340. 

Garrison, W. L., to Mrs. Stowe on 
"Uncle Tom's Cabin," 161 ; in hour 
of victory, 396; his "Liberator," 
261 ; sent with H W. Beecher to 
raise flag on Sumter, 477 ; letters to 
H. B. S. from, on " Uncle Tom's 
Cabin," 161 ; on slavery, 251-262 ; 
on arousing the church, 265. 

Gaskell, Mrs., at home, 312. 

Geography, school, written by Mrs. 
Stowe, 65 note, 158. 

Germany's tribute to "Uncle Tom's 
Cabin," 195. 

Gladstone, W. E., 233. 



Glasgow, H. B. S. visits, 210 ; Anti- 
slavery Society of, 174, 189, 213. 

Glasgow Anti-slavery Society, letter 
from H. B. S. to, 251. 

God, H. B. S.'s views of, 39, 42, 43, 
46, 47 ; trust in, 112, 132, 148, 341 ; 
doubts and final trust in, 321, 396 ; 
his help in time of need, 496. 

Goethe and Mr. Lewes, 420 ; Prof. 
Stowe's admiration of, 420. 

Goldschmidt, Madame. See Lind, 

Gorres on spiritualism and mysticism, 
412, 474. 

Grandmother, letter from H. B. S. 
to, on breaking up of Litchfield 
home, 35 ; on school life in Hart- 
ford, 41. 

Granville, Lord, 233. 

" Gray's Elegy," visit to scene of, 236. 

Guiccioli, Countess, " Recollections of 
Lord Byron," 446. 

Hall, Judge James, 68, 69. 
Hallam, Arthur Henry, 235. 
Hamilton and Manumission Society, 

Harper & Brothers reprint Guiccioli' s 

" Recollections of Byron," 446. 
Hartford, H. B. S. goes to school at, 

21 ; the Stowes make their home at, 

Harvey, a phantom, 430. 
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 353 ; letter on, 

187; on slavery, 394; letter to H. 

B. S. on, from English attitude to- 
wards America, 394. 
Health, care of, 115. 
Heaven, belief in, 59. 
Helps, Arthur, on " Uncle Tom's 

Cabin," 175 ; meets H. B. S., 229 ; 

letter from H. B. S. to, on " Uncle 

Tom's Cabin," 175. 
Henry, Patrick, on slavery, 141. 
Hentz, Mrs. Caroline Lee, 69, 80. 
Higginson, T. W., letter to H. B. S. 

from, on "Uncle Tom's Cabin," 


" History, The, of the Byron Contro- 
versy," 490. 

Holmes, O. W., correspondence with, 
360, et seq. ; attacks upon, 361 ; H. 
B. S. asks advice from, about man- 
ner of telling facts in relation to 
Byron Controversy, 452, 454 ; sends 
copy of " Lady Byron Vindicated " 
to, 454 ; on facts of case, 455 ; on 
sympathy displayed in his writings, 
411 ; poem on H. B. S.'s seventieth 
birthday, 503 ; tribute to Uncle 
Tom, 504 ; letters from H. B. S. to, 
359, 410; on "Poganuc People," 
414 ; asking advice about Byron 
Controversy and article for "Atlan- 
tic Monthly," 452 ; letters to H. B. 
S. from, 360, 409 ; on facts in the 
Byron Controversy, 456. 

Houghton, Mifflin & Co., celebrate H. 
B. S.'s seventieth birthday, 500. 

Houghton, H. O., presents guests to 
H. B. S., on celebration of seven- 
tieth birthday, 500 ; address of wel- 
come by, 501. 

" House and Home Papers " published, 

Howitt, Mary, calls on H. B. S., 231. 

Human life, sacredness of, 193. 

Human nature in books and men, 328. 

Hume and mediums, 419. 

Humor of Mrs. Stowe's books, George 
Eliot on, 462. 

Husband and wife, sympathy be- 
tween, 105. 

Idealism versus Realism, Lowell on, 

"Independent," New York, work for, 

186 ; Mrs. Browning reads Mrs. 

Stowe in, 357. 
Inverary Castle, H. B. S.'s. visit to, 

Ireland's gift to Mrs. Stowe, 248. 

Jefferson, Thomas, on slavery, 141. 
Jewett, John P., of Boston, publisher 
of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," 158. 



Kansas Nebraska Bill, 255 ; urgency 
of question, 265. 

"Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin" pro- 
jected, 174 ; -written, 188 ; contains 
facts, 203 ; read by Pollock, 226 ; by 
Argyll, 239; sickness caused by, 
252 ; sale, 253 ; facts woven into 
"Dred," 266; date of in chronologi- 
cal list, 490. 

Kingsley, Charles, upon effect of 
" Uncle Tom's Cabin," 196; visit to, 
286 ; letters to H. B. S. from, on 
"Uncle Tom's Cabin," 196, 218. 

Kossuth, on freedom, 195 ; Mrs. Stowe 
calls upon, 237. 

Labouchebe, Lady Mary, visit to, 

" Lady Byron Vindicated," 454 ; date, 

Letters, circular, writing of, a custom in 
the Beecher family, 99; H. B. S.'s 
love of, 62, 63; H. B. S.'s peculiar 
emotions on re-reading old, 507. 

Lewes, G. H., George Eliot's letter 
after death of, 483. 

Lewes, Mrs. G. H. See Eliot, George, 

" Library of Famous Fiction," date of, 

"Liberator," The, 261; and Bible, 
263 ; suspended after the close of 
civil war, 396. 

Lincoln and slavery, 380; death of, 

Lind, Jenny, liberality of, 181 ; H. B. 
S. attends concert by, 182 ; letter to 
H. B. S. from, on her delight in 
"Uncle Tern's Cabin," 183 ; letters 
from H. B. S. to, -with appeal for 
slaves, 183, 184. 

Litchfield, birthplace of H. B. S., 1 ; 
end of her child-life in, 21 ; home 
at broken up, 35. 

Literary labors, early, 15-21 ; prize 
story, 68 ; club essays, 69-71 ; con- 
tributor to " Western Monthly Mag- 
azine," 81 ; school geography, 65 ; 

described in letter to a friend, 94; 
price for, 103 ; fatigue caused by, 
489 ; length of time passed in, with 
list of books written, 490. 

Literary work versus domestic duties, 
94 el seq., 139; short stories — 
"New Year's Story" for " N. Y. 
Evangelist," 146; "A Scholar's 
Adventures in the Country " for 
"Era," 146. 

Literature, opinion of, 44. 

" Little Pussy Willow," date of, 491. 

Liverpool, warm reception of H. B. 
S. at, 207. 

London poor and Southern slaves, 175. 

London, first visit to, 225 ; second 
visit to, 281. 

Longfellow, H. W., congratulations 
of, on " Uncle Tom's Cabin," 161 ; 
letter on, 187; Lord Granville's 
likeness to, 233 ; letters to H. B. S. 
from, on " Uncle Tom's Cabin," 161. 

Love, the impulse of life, 51, 52. 

Love joy, J. P., murdered, 143, 145 ; 
aided by Beechers, 152. 

Low, Sampson, on success of " Uncle 
Tom's Cabin" abroad, 189. 

Low, Sampson & Co. publish "Dred," 
269; their sales, 279. 

Lowell, J. R., Duchess of Suther- 
land's interest! n, 277 ; less known 
in England than he should be, 285 ; 
on " Uncle Tom," 327 ; on Dickens 
and Thackeray, 327, 334 ; on " The 
Minister's Wooing," 330, 333; on 
idealism, 334 ; letter to H. B. S. 
from, on " The Minister's Wooing," 

Macaulay, 233, 234. 

McClellan, Gen., his disobedience to 

the President's commands, 367. 
"Magnalia," Cotton Mather's, a mine 

of wealth to H. B. S, 10; Prof. 

Stowe's interest in, 427. 
Maine law, curiosity about in England, 

Mandarin, Mrs. Stowe at, 403; like 



Sorrento, 463 ; how her house was 
built, 469 ; her happy out-door life 
in, relieved from domestic care, 474 ; 
longings for home at, 492 ; freed- 
men's happy life in South, 506. 

Mann, Horace, makes a plea for slaves, 

Martineau, Harriet, letter to H. B. S. 
from, 208. 

May, Georgiana, school and life-long 
friend of H. B. S., 31, 32 ; Mrs. 
Sykes, 132 ; her ill-health and fare- 
well to H. B. S., 268 ; letters from 
H. B. S. to, 44, 49, 50 ; account of 
westward journey, 56; on labor in 
establishing school, 65, 66 ; on edu- 
cation, 72 ; just before her marriage 
to Mr. Stowe, 76 ; on her early mar- 
ried life and housekeeping, 89; on 
birth of her son, 101 ; describing 
first railroad ride, 106 ; on her chil- 
dren, 119 ; her letter to Mrs. Foote, 
grandmother of H. B. S., 38 ; let- 
ters to H. B. S. from, 161, 268. 

"Mayflower, The," 103, 158; revised 
and republished, 251 ; date of, 490. 

Melancholy, 118, 341 ; a characteristic 
of Prof. Stowe in childhood, 436. 

" Men of Our Times," date of, 410. 

" Middlemarch," H. B. S. wishes to 
read, 468 ; character of Casaubon 
in, 471. 

Milman, Dean, 234. 

Milton's hell, 303. 

"Minister's Wooing, The," soul strug- 
gles of Mrs. Marvyn, foundation of 
incident, 25 ; idea of God in, 29 ; 
impulse for writing, 52 ; appears in 
"Atlantic Monthly," 326 ; Lowell, J. 
R. on, 327, 330, 333 ; Whittier on, 
327 ; completed, 332 ; Ruskin on, 
336 ; undertone of pathos, 339 ; vis- 
its England in relation to, 343 ; date 
of, 490 ; " reveals warm heart of 
man " beneath the Puritan in Whit- 
tier's poem, 502. 

Missouri Compromise, 142, 257 ; re- 
pealed, 379. 

Mohl, Madame, and her salon, 291. 

Money-making, reading as easy a way 
as any of, 494. 

Moral aim in novel-writing, J. R. Low- 
ell on, 333. 

"Mourning Veil, The," 327. 

"Mystique La," on spiritualism, 412. 

Naples and Vesuvius, 302. 

" National Era," its history, 157 ; work 
for, 186. 

Negroes, petition from, presented by 
J. Q. Adams, 510. 

New England, Mrs. Stowe's knowledge 
of, 332 ; in " The Minister's Woo- 
ing," 333; life pictured in "Old- 
town Folks," 444. 

New London, fatigue of reading at, 

Newport, tiresome journey to, on read- 
ing tour, 497. 

Niagara, impressions of, 75. 

Normal school for colored teachers, 

" North American Review " on " Uncle 
Tom's Cabin," 254. 

North versus South, England on, 388, 

Norton, C. E., Ruskin on the proper 
home of, 354. 

" Observer, New York," denunciation 
of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," 168, 172. 

"Oldtown Fireside Stories," 438; 
strange spiritual experiences of Prof. 
Stowe, ■ 438 ; Sam Lawson a real 
character, 439 ; relief after finish- 
ing, 489 ; date of in chronological 
list, 491 ; in Whittier's poem on 
seventieth birthday ' With Old New 
England's flavor rife," 503. 

"Oldtown Folks," 404; Prof. Stowe 
original of " Harry " in, 421 ; George 
Eliot on its reception in England, 
443, 461, 463 ; picture of N. E. life, 
444 ; date of, 490 ; Whittier's praise 
of, " vigorous pencil-strokes " in 
poem on seventieth birthday, 503. 



Orthodoxy, 335. 

"Our Charley," date of, 490. 

Owen, Robert Dale, his " Footfalls on 
the Boundary of Another World" 
and ' ' The Debatable Land between 
this World and the Next," 464; H. 
B. S. wishes George Eliot to meet, 

Palmerston, Lord, meeting with, 232. 

" Palmetto Leaves " published, 405 ; 
date, 491. 

Papacy, The, 358. 

Paris, first visit to, 241 ; second visit, 

Park, Professor Edwards A., 186. 

Parker, Theodore, on the Bible and 
Jesus, 264. 

Paton, Bailie, host of Mrs. Stowe, 211. 

Peabody, pleasant reading in, 496; 
Queen Victoria's picture at, 496. 

" Pearl of Orr's Island, The," 186, 187 ; 
first published, 327 ; Whittier's fa- 
vorite, 327 ; date of, 490. 

"Pebbles from the Shores of a Past 
Life," a review of her life proposed 
to be written by H. B. S. with aid 
of son Charles, 512. 

Phantoms seen by Professor Stowe, 

Phelps, Elizabeth Stuart, writes poem 
on H. B. S.'s seventieth birthday, 

" Philanthropist, The," anti-slavery pa- 
per, 81, 87. 

Phillips, Wendell, attitude of after 
war, 396. 

" Pink and White Tyranny," date of, 

Plymouth Church, saves Edmonson's 
daughters, 179; slavery and, 477; 
clears Henry Ward Beecher by ac- 
clamation, 478; calls council of 
Congregational ministers and lay- 
men, 479 ; council ratifies decision 
of Church, 479; committee of five 
appointed to bring facts which could 
be proved, 479 ; missions among poor 

particularly effective at time of trial, 

"Poganuc People," 413; sent to Dr. 

Holmes, 414 ; date of, 491. 
Pollock, Lord Chief Baron, 226. 
Poor, generosity of touches H. B. S., 

Portland, H. B. S.'s friends there 

among the past, 494; her readings 

in, 493. 
Portraits of Mrs. Stowe, 231 ; Belloc 

to paint, 241 ; untruth of, 288. 
Poverty in early married life, 198. 
Prescott, W. H., letter to H. B. S. 

from, on " Dred," 311. 
" Presse, La," on " Dred," 291. 
Providential aid in sickness, 113. 

" Queer Little People," date of, 490. 

Reading and teaching, 139. 
Religion and humanity, George Eliot 

on, 462. 
" Religious poems," date of, 490. 
" Revue des Deux Mondes " on " Dred," 

Riots in Cincinnati and anti-slavery 

agitation, 85. 
Roenne, Baron de, visits Professor 

Stowe, 102. 
Roman politics in 1861, 358. 
Rome, H. B. S.'s journey to, 294; 

impressions of, 300. 
Ruskin, John, letters to H. B. S. from, 

on "The Minister's Wooing," 336; 

on his dislike of America, but love 

for American friends, 354. 
Ruskin and Turner, 313. 

Saint-Beuve, H. B. S.'s liking for, 

Sales, Francis de, H. W. Beecher com- 
pared with, 481. 

Salisbury, Mr., interest of in " Uncle 
Tom's Cabin," 191. 

Salons, French, 289. 

Sand, George, reviews " Uncle Tom's 
Cabin," 196. 



Scotland, H. B. S.'s first visit to, 209. 

Scott, Walter, Lyman Beecher's opin- 
ion of, when discussing novel-read- 
ing, 25 ; monument in Edinburgh, 

Sea, H. B. S.'s nervous horror of, 

Sea-voyages, H. B. S. on, 205. 

Semi-Colon Club, H. B. S. becomes a 
member of, 68. 

Shaftesbury, Earl of, letter of, to Mrs. 
Stowe, 170. 

Shaftesbury, Lord, toH. B. S., letter 
from, 170 ; letter from H. B. S. to, 
170 ; America and, 369. 

Skinner, Dr., 57. 

Slave, aiding a fugitive, 93. 

Slave-holding States on English ad- 
dress, 378 ; intensity of conflict in, 

Slavery, H. B. S.'s first notice of, 71 ; 
anti-slavery agitation, 81 ; death- 
knell of, 141 ; Jefferson, Washing- 
ton, Hamilton, and Patrick Henry 
on, 141 ; growth of, 142 ; resume" of 
its history, 143 ; responsibility of 
church for, 151 ; Lord Carlisle's 
opinion on, 164 ; moral effect of, 
165 ; sacrilege of, 193 ; its past and 
future, 194 ; its injustice, 255 ; its 
death-blow ; 370 ; English women's 
appeal against, 375 ; J. Q. Adams' 
crusade against, 509 ; gone forever, 

Slaves, H. B. S.'s work for and sym- 
pathy with, 152 ; family sorrows of, 

Smith, Anna, helper to Mrs. S., 115 ; 
note, 200. 

Soul, immortality of, H. B. S.'s essay 
written at age of twelve : first lit- 
erary production, 15—21 ; Addison's 
remarks upon, 18 ; Greek and Bo- 
man idea of immortality, 20 ; light 
given by Gospel, 20, 21 ; Christ on, 

South, England's sympathy with the, 
370, 386. 

South Framingham, good audience at 
reading in, 495. 

"Souvenir, The," 105. 

Spiritualism, Mrs. Stowe on, 350, 351, 
464 ; Mrs. Browning on, 356 ; 
Holmes, O. W., on, 411 ; " La Mys- 
tique " and Gorres on, 412, 474 ; Pro- 
fessor Stowe's strange experiences 
in, 420, 423 ; George Eliot on psychi- 
cal problems of, 421 ; on " Charla- 
tanerie" connected with, 467; Rob- 
ert Dale Owen on, 464; Goethe on, 
465; H. B. S.'s letter to George 
Eliot on, 466 ; her mature views 
on, 485 ; a comfort to doubters and 
disbelievers, 487 ; from Christian 
standpoint, 487. 

Stafford House meeting, 233. 

Stephens, A. H, on object of Confed- 
eracy, 381. 

Storrs, Dr. R. S., 181. 

Stowe, Calvin E., 56 ; death of first 
wife, 75 ; his engagement to Harriet 
E. Beecher, 76 ; their marriage, 76, 
77 ; his work in Lane Seminary, 79 ; 
sent by the Seminary to Europe on 
educational matters, 80 ; returns, 88 ; 
his Educational Report presented, 
89 ; aids a fugitive slave, 93 ; 
strongly encourages his wife in her 
literary aspirations, 102, 105 ; care 
of the sick students in Lane Semi- 
nary, 107; is "house-father" dur- 
ing his wife's illness and absence, 
113; goes to water cure after his 
wife's return from the same, 119; 
absent from Cincinnati home at 
death of youngest child, 124; ac- 
cepts the Collins Professorship at 
Bowdoin, 125 ; gives his mother his 
reasons for leaving Cincinnati, 128 ; 
remains behind to finish college 
work, while wife and three children 
leave for Brunswick, Me., 129 ; re- 
signs his professorship at Bow- 
doin, and accepts a call to Andover, 
184; accompanies his wife to Eu- 
rope, 205 ; his second trip with wife 



to Europe, 269; sermon after his 
son's death, 322 ; great sorrow at 
his bereavement, 324 ; goes to Eu- 
rope for the fourth time, 345 ; re- 
signs his position at Andover, 373 ; 
in Florida, 403 ; failing health, 417 ; 
his letter to George Eliot, 420 ; H. 
B. S. uses his strange experiences 
in youth as material for her picture 
of "Harry" in " Oldtown Folks," 
421 ; the psychological history of 
his strange child-life, 423 ; curious 
experiences with phantoms, and 
good and bad spirits, 427 ; visions 
of fairies, 435 ; love of reading, 437 ; 
his power of character - painting 
shown in his description of a visit to 
his relatives, 439; George Eliot's 
mental picture of his personality, 
461 ; enjoys life and study in Flor- 
ida, 463 ; his studies on Prof . Gorres' 
book, " Die Christliche Mystik," and 
its relation to his own spiritual expe- 
rience, 474 ; love for Henry Ward 
Beecher returned by latter, 475 ; 
absorbed in " Daniel Deronda," 482 ; 
"overhead and ears in diablerie," 
484 ; fears he has not long to live, 
491 ; dull at wife's absence on read- 
ing tour, 496 ; enjoys proximity to 
Boston Library, and " Life of John 
Quincy Adams," 509 ; death, 512 
and note ; letters from H. B. S. to, 80, 
106 ; on her illness, 112, 114, 117 ; 
on cholera epidemic in Cincinnati, 
120 ; on sickness, death of son 
Charley, 122 ; account of new home, 
133 ; on her writings and literary 
aspirations, 146 ; on success of 
44 Uncle Tom's Cabin," 162 ; on her 
interest in the Edmonson slave fam- 
ily, 180 ; on life in London, 238 ; on 
visit to the Duke of Argyle, 271 ; 
from Dunrobin Castle, 275 ; on 
4< Dred," 282; other letters from 
abroad, 282 ; on life in Paris, 286 ; 
on journey to Rome, 294 ; on im- 
pressions of Rome, 300 ; on Swiss 

journey, 348; from Florence, 349; 
from Paris, 353 ; on farewell to her 
soldier son, 364 ; visit to Duchess 
of Argyle, 366 ; on her reading tour, 
491 ; on his health and her enforced 
absence from him, 492 ; on reading, 
at Chelsea, 492 ; at Bangor and 
Portland, 493 ; at South Framingham 
and Haverhill, 495 ; Peabody, 496 ; 
fatigue at New London reading, 496 ; 
letters from to H. B . S. on visit to his 
relatives and description of home 
life, 440 ; to mother on reasons for 
leaving the West, 128 ; to George 
Eliot, 420 ; to son Charles, 345. 

Stowe, Charles E., seventh child of H. 
B. S., birth of, 139; at Harvard, 
406 ; at Bonn, 412 ; letter from 
Calvin E. Stowe to, 345 ; letter from 
H. B. S. to, on her school life, 29 ; 
on " Poganuc People," 413 ; on her 
readings in the West, 497 ; on selec- 
tion of papers and letters for her 
biography, 507; on interest of her- 
self and Prof. Stowe in life and anti- 
slavery career of John Quincy 
Adams, 509. 

Stowe, Eliza Tyler (Mrs. C. E), draft 
of, 75 : twin daughter of H. B. S., 

Stowe, Frederick William, second son 
of H. B. S., 101; enlists in First 
Massachusetts, 364 ; made lieuten- 
ant for bravery, 366 ; mother's visit 
to, 367 ; severely wounded, 372 ; 
subsequent effects of the wound, 
never entirely recovers, his disap- 
pearance and unknown fate, 373; 
ill-health after war, Florida home 
purchased for his sake, 399. 

Stowe, Georgiana May, daughter of 
H. B. S., birth of, 108; family 
happy in her marriage, 399; letter 
from H. B. S. to, 340. 

Stowe, Harriet Beecher, birth and pa- 
rentage of, 1 ; first memorable inci- 
dent, the death of her mother, 2; 
letter to her brother Charles on her 



mother's death, 2 ; incident of the 
tulip bulbs and mother's gentleness, . 
2 ; first journey a visit to her grand- 
mother, 5 ; study of catechisms under 
her grandmother and aunt, 6 ; early 
religious and Biblical reading, 8 ; 
first school at the age of five, 8 ; 
hunger after mental food, 9 ; joyful 
discovery of " The Arabian Nights," 
in the bottom of a barrel of dull 
sermons, 9 ; reminiscences of read- 
ing in father's library, 10 ; impres- 
sion made by the Declaration of 
Independence, 11 ; appearance and 
character of her stepmother, 11, 12; 
healthy, happy child-life, 13 ; birth 
of her half-sister Isabella and H. 
B. S.'s care of infant, 14 ; early love 
of writing, 14 ; her essay selected 
for reading at school exhibitions, 14 ; 
her father's pride in essay, 15 ; sub- 
ject of essay, arguments for belief 
in the Immortality of the Soul, 15-*- 
21 ; end of child-life in Litchfield, 
21 ; goes to sister Catherine's school 
at Hartford, 29 ; describes Catherine 
Beecher's school in letter to son, 29 ; 
her home with the Bulls, 30, 31 ; 
school friends, 31, 32 ; takes up 
Latin, her study of Ovid and Virgil, 
32 ; dreams of being a poet and 
writes Cleon," a drama, 32 ; her 
conversion, 33, 34; doubts of rela- 
tives and friends, 34, 35; connects 
herself with First Church, Hartford, 
36 ; her struggle with rigid the- 
ology, 36; her melancholy and 
doubts, 37, 38; necessity of cheer- 
ful society, 38 ; visit to grand- 
mother, 38 ; return to Hartford, 41 ; 
interest in painting lessons, 41 ; con- 
fides her religious doubts to her 
brother Edward, 42 ; school life in 
Hartford, 46 ; peace at last, 49 ; 
accompanies her father and family 
to Cincinnati, 53 ; describes her jour- 
ney, 56 ; yearnings for New England 
home, 60 ; ill-health and depres- 

sion, 64 ; her life in Cincinnati and 
teaching at new school established 
by her sister Catherine and herself, 
65; wins prize for short story, 68; 
joins "Semicolon Club," 68; sla- 
very first brought to her personal 
notice, 71 ; attends Henry Ward 
Beecher's graduation, 73 ; engage- 
ment, 76; marriage, 76; anti-sla- 
very agitation, 82 ; sympathy with 
Birney, editor of anti-slavery paper 
in Cincinnati, 84 ; birth of twin 
daughters, 88 ; of her third child, 
89; reunion of the Beecher family, 
89; housekeeping versus literary 
work, 93 ; birth of second son, 101 ; 
visits Hartford, 102 ; literary work 
encouraged, 102, 105 ; sickness in 
Lane Seminary, 107; death of 
brother George, 108 ; birth of third 
daughter, 108; protracted illness 
and poverty, 110; seminary strug- 
gles, 110 ; goes to water cure, 113 ; 
returns home, 118; birth of sixth 
child, 118; bravery in cholera epi- 
demic, 120 ; death of youngest child 
Charles, 123 ; leaves Cincinnati, 
125 ; removal to Brunswick, 126 ; 
getting settled, 134; husband ar- 
rives, 138 ; birth of seventh child, 
139 ; anti-slavery feeling aroused by 
letters from Boston, 145; "Uncle 
Tom's Cabin," first thought of , 145; 
writings for papers, 147; "Uncle 
Tom's Cabin" appears as a serial, 
156; in book form, 159; its won- 
derful success, 160 ; praise from 
Longfellow, Whittier, Garrison, Hig- 
ginson, 161 ; letters from English 
nobility, 164, et seq. ; writes ' ' Key 
to Uncle Tom's Cabin," 174, 188; 
visits Henry Ward in Brooklyn, 178 ; 
raises money to free Edmondson 
family, 181 ; home-making at An- 
dover, 186; first trip to Europe, 
.189, 205 ; wonderful success of 
" Uncle Tom's Cabin " abroad, 189 ; 
her warm reception at Liverpool, 



207 ; delight in Scotland, 209 ; pub- 
lic reception and teaparty at Glas- 
gow, 212 ; warm welcome from 
Scotch people, 214 ; touched by 
the "penny offering" of the poor 
for the slaves, 219; Edinburgh 
soiree, 219; meets English celebri- 
ties at Lord Mayor's dinner in Lon- 
don, 226 ; meets English nobility, 
229; Stafford House, 232; break- 
fast at Lord Trevelyan's, 234 ; 
Windsor, 235 ; presentation of brace- 
let, 233; of inkstand, 240; Paris, 
first visit to, 241 ; en route for Swit- 
zerland, 243 ; Geneva and Chillon, 
244 ; Grindelwald to Meyringen, 
245 ; London, en route for America, 
247 ; work for slaves in America, 
250 ; correspondence with Garrison, 
261, et. seq.; "Dred," 266; second 
visit to Europe, 268; meeting with 
Queen Victoria, 270 ; visits Inverary 
Castle, 271 ; Dunrobin Castle, 275 ; 
Oxford and London, 280 ; visits the 
Laboucheres, 283; Paris, 289; en 
route to Rome, 294 ; Naples and Ve- 
suvius, 301 ; Venice and Milan, 305 ; 
homeward journey and return, 306, 
314; death of oldest son, 315 ; visits 
Dartmouth, 319; receives advice 
from Lowell on " The Pearl of Orr's 
Island," 327; " The Minister's Woo- 
ing," 327, 330, 334; third trip to 
Europe, 342 ; Duchess of Suther- 
land's warm welcome, 346 ; Switzer- 
land, 34S; Florence, 349; Italian 
journey, 352 ; return to America, 
353; letters from Ruskin, Mrs. 
Browning, Holmes, 353, 362 ; bids 
farewell to her son, 364 ; at Wash- 
ington, 366 ; her son wounded at 
Gettysburg, 372 ; his disappearance, 
373 ; the Stowes remove to Hart- 
ford, 373 ; Address to women of 
England on slavery, 374 ; winter 
home in Florida, 401 ; joins the 
Episcopal Church, 402 ; erects school- 
house and church in Florida, 404 ; 

"Palmetto Leaves," 405; "Po- 
ganuc People," 413; warm recep- 
tion at South, 415 ; last winter in 
Florida, 417; writes "Oldtown 
Folks," 404; her interest in hus- 
band's strange spiritual experiences, 
438 ; H. B. S. justifies her action in 
Byron Controversy, 445 ; her love 
and faith in Lady Byron, 449 ; reads 
Byron letters, 450 ; counsels silence 
and patience to Lady Byron, 451 ; 
writes " True Story of Lady Byron's 
Life," 447, 453; publishes "Lady 
Byron Vindicated, " 454 ; "History 
of the Byron Controversy," 455; her 
purity of motive in this painful mat- 
ter, 455 ; George Eliot's sympathy 
with her in Byron matter, 458 ; her 
friendship, with George Eliot dates 
from letter shown by Mrs. Follen, 459, 
460 ; describes Florida life and peace 
to George Eliot, 463 ; her interest in 
Mr. Owen and spiritualism, 464 ; love 
of Florida life and nature, 468 ; his- 
tory of Florida home, 469 ; impres- 
sions of '' Middlemarch," 471; invites 
George Eliot to come to America, 
472 ; words of sympathy on Beecher 
trial from George Eliot, and Mrs. 
Stowe's reply, 473 ; her defense of 
her brother's purity of life, 475 ; 
Beecher trial drawn on her heart's 
blood, 480; her mature views on 
spiritualism, 484 ; her doubts of or- 
dinary manifestations, 486; soul- 
cravings after dead friends satisfied 
by Christ's promises, 486 ; chrono- 
logical list of her books, 490 ; ac- 
cepts offer from N. E. Lecture Bu- 
reau to give readings from her 
works, 491 ; gives readings in New 
England, 491, et seq. ; warm wel- 
come in Maine, 493 ; sympathetic 
audiences in Massachusetts, 495 ; 
fatigue of traveling and reading at 
New London, 496 ; Western reading 
tour, 497 ; " fearful distances and 
wretched trains," 498; seventieth 



anniversary of birthday celebrated 
by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 500 ; 
H. O. Houghton's welcome, 501 ; H. 
W. Beecher's reply and eulogy on 
sister, 502; Whittier's poem at sev- 
entieth birthday, 502 ; Holmes' poem, 
503 ; other poems of note written 
for the occasion, 505 ; Mrs. Stowe's 
thanks, 505; joy in the future of 
the colored race, 506 ; reading old 
letters and papers, 507 ; her own let- 
ters to Mr. Stowe and letters from 
friends, 508 ; interest in Life of 
John Quincy Adams and his crusade 
against slavery, 510; death of hus- 
band, 512 and note ; of Henry Ward 
Beecher, 512 ; thinks of writing re- 
view of her life aided by son, under 
title of " Pebbles from the Shores 
of a Past Life," 512; her feelings 
on the nearness of death, but per- 
fect trust in Christ, 513; glimpses 
of the future life leave a strange 
sweetness in her mind, 513. 

Stowe, Harriet Beecher, twin daugh- 
ter of H. B. S., 88. 

Stowe, Henry Ellis, first son of H. B. S. , 
89 ; goes to Europe, 269 ; returns 
to enter Dartmouth, 278 ; death of, 
315 ; his character, 317 ; his portrait, 
320; mourning for, 341, 350. 

Stowe, Samuel Charles, sixth child of 
H. B. S., birth of, 118 ; death of, 
124 ; anguish at loss of, 198 ; early 
death of, 508. 

Study, plans for a, 104. 

Sturge, Joseph, visit to, 223. 

Suffrage, universal, H. W. Beecher 
advocate of, 477. 

Sumner, Charles, on "Uncle Tom's 
Cabin," 196; letter to H. B. S. 
from, 268. 

Sumter, Fort, H. W. Beecher raises 
flag on, 477. 

"Sunny Memories," 251; date of, 

Sutherland, Duchess of, 188, 218; 
friend to America, 228 ; at Stafford 

House presents gold bracelet, 233 ; 
visit to, 274, 276 ; fine character, 
277 ; sympathy with on son's death, 
319; warm welcome to H. B. S., 
346; death of, 410; letters from H. 
B. S. to, on " Key to Uncle Tom's 
Cabin," 188; on death of eldest 
son, 315. 

Sutherland, Lord, personal appear- 
ance of, 232. 

Swedenborg, weary messages from 
spirit-world of, 486. 

Swiss Alps, visit to, 244 ; delight in, 

Swiss interest in "Uncle Tom," 244. 

Switzerland, H. B. S. in, 348. 

Sykes, Mrs. See May, Georgiana. 

Talfourd, Mr. Justice, 226. 

Thackeray, W. M., Lowell on, 328. 

Thanksgiving Day in Washington, 
free*d slaves celebrate, 387. 

"Times, London," on "Uncle Tom's 
Cabin," 168 ; on Mrs. Stowe's new 
dress, 237; on "Dred," 278; Miss 
Martineau's criticism on, 310. 

Titcomb, John, aids H. B. S. in 
moving, 137. 

Tourgee, Judge A. W., his speech at 
seventieth birthday, 505. 

Trevelyan, Lord and Lady, 231 ; 
breakfast to Mrs. Stowe, 234. 

Triqueti, Baron de, models bust of H. 
B. S., 289. 

Trowbridge, J. T., writes on seven- 
tieth birthday, 505. 

"True Story of Lady Byron's Life, 
The," in " Atlantic Monthly," 447. 

Tupper, M. F., calls on H. B. S., 231. 

" Uncle Tom's Cabin," description of 
Augustine St. Clair's mother's influ- 
ence a simple reproduction of Mrs. 
Lyman Beecher's influence, 5 ; 
written under love's impulse, 52; 
fugitives' escape, foundation of 
story, 93 ; popular conception of 
author of, 127 ; origin and inspira- 
tion of, 145 ; Prof. Cairnes on, 146 ; 



Uncle Tom's death, conception of, 
148 ; letter to Douglas about facts, 
149; appears in the "Era," 149, 
156 ; came from heart, 153 ; a re- 
ligious work, object of, 154 ; its 
power, 155 ; begins a serial in " Na- 
tional Era," 156 ; price paid by 
" Era," 158; publisher's offer, 158; 
first copy of books sold, 159 j won- 
derful success. 160; praise from 
Longfellow, Whittier, Garrison, and 
Higginson, 161, 162; threatening 
letters, 163; Eastman's, Mrs., re- 
joinder to, 163 ; reception in Eng- 
land, "Times," on, 168; political 
effect of, 168, 169 ; book under in- 
terdict in South, 172; "Key to 
Uncle Tom's Cabin," 174, 188; 
Jenny Lind's praise of, 183 ; attack 
upon, 187 ; Sampson Low upon its 
success abroad, 189 ; first London 
publisher, 189 ; number of editions 
sold in Great Britain and abroad, 
190 ; dramatized in U. S. and Lon- 
don, 192 ; European edition, preface 
to, 192 ; fact not fiction, 193 ; trans- 
lations of, 195 ; German tribute to, 
195 ; George Sand's review, 196 ; re- 
muneration for, 202 ; written with 
heart's blood, 203; Swiss interest 
in, 244, 245 ; Mme. Belloc translates, 
247; "North American Review" 
on, 254 ; in France, 291 ; compared 
with "Dred," 285, 309; J. R. Low- 
ell on, 327, 330 ; Mrs. Stowe re- 
reads after war, 396; later books 
compared with, 409 ; H. W. Beech- 
er's approval of, 476 ; new edition 
with introduction sent to George 
Eliot, 483 ; date of, 490 ; Whittier's 
mention of, in poem on seventieth 
birthday, 502 ; Holmes' tribute to, 
in poem on same occasion, 504. 

Upham, Mrs., kindness to H. B. S., 
133 ; visit to, 324. 

Venice, 304. 

Victoria, Queen, H. B. S.'s interview 
with, 270 ; gives her picture to Geo. 
Peabody, 496. 

Vizetelly, Henry, first London pub- 
lisher of " Uncle Tom's Cabin," 
189, 191. 

Wakefield, reading at, 495. 

Walnut Hills, picture of, 65 ; and old 
home revisited, 499. 

Waltham, audience inspires reader, 

Washington, Mrs. Stowe visits soldier 
son at, 366. 

Washing-ton on slavery, 141. 

Water cure, H. B. S. at, 113. 

"We and our Neighbors," date of, 

Webster, Daniel, famous speech of, 

Weld, Theodore D. in the anti-slavery 
movement, 81. 

Western travel, discomforts of, 498. 

Whately, Archbishop, letter to H. B. S. 
from, 391. 

Whitney, A. D. T., writes poem on 
seventieth birthday, 505. 

Whitney, Eli, and the cotton gin, 142. 

Whittier's " Ichabod," a picture of 
Daniel Webster, 143. 

Whittier, J. G., 157; letter to W. L. 
Garrison from, on "Uncle Tom's 
Cabin," 161 ; letterto H. B. S. from, 
on "Uncle Tom's Cabin," 162; on 
"Pearl of Orr's Island," 327; on 
"Minister's Wooing," 327; poem 
on H. B. S's. seventieth birthday, 

Windsor, visit to, 235. 

Womanhood, true, H. B. S. on intellect 
versus heart, 475. 

Woman's rights, H. W. Beecher, ad- 
vocate of, 478. 

Women of America, Appeal from H. 
B. S. to, 255. 

Women's influence, power of, 258. 

Zanesville, description of, 499. 







It is the great happiness of Mrs. Stowe not only to have written 
many delightful books, but to have written one book which will be al- 
ways famous not only as the most vivid picture of an extinct evil sys- 
tem, but as one of the most powerful influences in overthrowing it. . . . 
No book was ever more a historical event than "Uncle Tom's Cabin.'''' 
. . . If all whom she has charmed and quickened should unite to sing 
her praises, the birds of summer would be outdone. — George Wil- 
liam Curtis. 

UNCLE TOM'S CABIN. A Story of American Slavery. i2mo, 

New Popular Edition from new plates. With account of the writing 

of this story by Mrs. Stowe, and frontispiece. i6mo, $1.00. 
Holiday Edition. With an Introduction of more than thirty pages by 
Mrs. Stowe, describing the circumstances under which the story 
was written, and a Bibliography of the various editions and lan- 
guages in which the work has appeared, by George Bullen, of the 
British Museum. With more than one hundred illustrations, and 
red-line border. 8vo, full gilt, $3.00 ; half calf, $5.00 ; morocco, or 
tree calf, $6.00. 

The publication of this remarkable story was an event in American 
history as well as in American literature. It fixed the eyes of the na- 
tion and of the civilized world on the evils of slavery, presenting these 
so vividly and powerfully that the heart and conscience of mankind 
were thenceforth enlisted against them. But, aside from its graphic 
portrayal of slavery, " Uncle Tom's Cabin " is a story of thrilling 
power, and abounds in humorous delineations of negro and Yankee 
character. Its extraordinary annual sale of thousands of copies, and 
its translation into numerous foreign languages, attest its universal 
and permanent interest. 

DRED {NINA GORDON). A Story of Slavery. New Edition from 

new plates. i2mo, $1.50. 

This volume was originally published under the title " Dred." It 
has a close connection with " Uncle Tom's Cabin," the object of both 
being to picture life at the South as it was under the regime of slavery. 

" Uncle Tom " and " Dred " will assure Mrs. Stowe a place in that high 
rank of novelists who can give us a national life in all its phases, popular and 
aristocratic, humorous and tragic, political and religious. — Westminster Re- 
view (London). 

AGNES OF SORRENTO. An Italian Romance. i2mo, $1.50. 

In this story a plot of rare interest is wrought out, amid the glowing 
scenery of Italy, with the author's well-known dramatic skill. 

THE PEARL OF ORR'S ISLAND. i2mo, $1.50. 

The scene of this charming tale is laid upon the coast of Maine. 
The author's familiar knowledge of New England rural life renders the 
volume especially attractive. 

A story of singular pathos and beauty. — North American Review. 

THE MINISTER'S WOOING. i2mo, $1.50. 

In this volume Mrs. Stowe has reproduced the New England of two 
generations ago. It deals with the noblest and most rugged traits of 
New England character. 

MY WIFE AND I; or, Harry Henderson's History. New Edition. 

Illustrated. i2mo, $1.50. 

This book first appeared as a serial in the Christian Union, New 
York. The author dedicates it to " the many dear, bright young girls 
whom she is so happy as to number among her choicest friends." 

WE AND OUR NEIGHBORS. New Edition. Illustrated. i2mo, 


This is a sequel to " My Wife and I." 

POGANUC PEOPLE. Their Loves and Lives. New Edition. 
Illustrated. i2mo, $1.50. 
A story of a New England town, its men and its manners. 

OLD TO WN FOLKS. 1 2mo, $ 1 . 50. 

Full to repletion of delicate sketches of very original characters, and clever 
bits of dialogue, and vivid descriptions of natural scenery. — The Spectator 

trated. New Edition, enlarged. i2mo, $1.50. 

Contents : The Ghost in the Mill ; The Sullivan Looking-Glass ; 
The Minister's Housekeeper; The Widow's Bandbox; Captain Kidd's 
Money; " Mis' Elderkin's Pitcher"; The Ghost in the Cap'n Brown 
House; Colonel Eph's Shoe-Buckles; The Bull-Fight ; How to Fight 
the Devil; Laughin' in Meetin' ; The Toothacre's Ghost Story; The 
Parson's Horse Race ; Oldtown Fireside Talks of the Revolution ; A 
Student's Sea Story. 

These stories will prove a mine of genuine fun ; pictures of a time, place, 
and state of society which are like nothing on this side of the world, and 
which, we suppose, are becoming rapidly erased. — The Athenaum (London). 



A series of New England sketches, many of which have become 
household stories throughout the land. 

The above eleven i2mo volumes, uniform, in box, $16.00. 

LITTLE PUSSY WILLOW, ETC. Illustrated. Square i2mo, 

A DOG'S MISSION, ETC. Illustrated. Square i2mo, $1.25. 

QUEER LITTLE PEOPLE. Illustrated. Square i2mo, $1.25. 

These three Juvenile books, $3.75. 

Three collections of delightful stories — the best of reading for 
young folks. 

PALMETTO LEAVES. Sketches of Florida. Illustrated. i6mo, 

Any one who wishes a delightful excursion to the land of flowers has only 
to turn over these " Palmetto Leaves " and he has it. — New York Observer. 

HOUSE AND HOME PAPERS. i6mo, $1.50. 

Contents : The Ravages of a Carpet ; Home - Keeping versus 
House-Keeping; What is a Home? The Economy of the Beautiful; 
Raking up the Fire ; The Lady who does her own Work ; What can 
be got in America; Economy; Servants; Cookery; Our House; 
Home Religion. 

An invaluable volume, and one which should be owned and consulted by 
every one who has a house, or who wants a home. — The Congregationalist 

LITTLE FOXES. Common Household Faults. i6mo, $1.50. 

The foxes are, — Fault-Finding, Irritability, Repression, Persistence, Intol- 
erance, Discourtesy, Exactingness. Mrs. Stowe has made essays as entertain- 
ing as stories, enlivened with wit, seasoned with sense, glowing with the most 
kindly feeling. — Hartford Press. 

THE CHIMNEY CORNER. i6mo, $1.50. 

A series of papers on Woman's Rights and Duties, Health, Amuse- 
ments, Entertainment of Company, Dress, Fashion, Self-Discipline, 
etc. The genial, practical wisdom of these subjects gives this volume 
great value. 

These three Household Books, uniform, in box, $4.50. 

RELIGIOUS POEMS. Illustrated. i6mo, $1.50. 

All characterized by the genius of Mrs. Stowe. ... In all, there is a pro- 
found appreciation of the i7iner life of religion, — a wrestling for nearness to 
God. — American Christian Review. 

FLOWERS AND FRUIT, selected from the Writings of Harriet 

Beecher Stowe. i6mo, $1.00. 

A charming little book . . . full of sweet passages, and bright, discerning, 
wise, and in the best sense of the term, witty sayings of our greatest American 
novelist. — Chicago Advance. 

MRS. STOWE. For use in School Entertainments. Selected by 
Emily Weaver. In Riverside Literature Series, extra number E. 
i6mo, paper, 15 cents, net. 
The selections are from some of Mrs. Stowe 's most true-to-life scenes, — 

full of pathos and mirth. . . . Nine most charming dialogues. — School Jour- 

nal (New York). 

*** For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the 

4 Park Street, Boston; ii East 17TH Street, New York. 

16bb' 4 

BINDING CI2T. SEP 21 1970 

PS Stove, Harriet Elizabeth 

2956 (Beecher) 
kU Life of Harriet Beecher 

1889 Stove